A Series of Drabbles
by Koriat Cyredanthem
Summary: A collection of mostly unrelated short stories centered around the Spartans, Sangheili, and other Halo characters. Ratings will vary by drabble from K to M, so the collection will be rated for the highest drabble in it at the time. All drabbles are individually labeled with titles, ratings, and genres. Please enjoy!
1. Cloudy Days (K)

**This is going to be a series of drabbles, of varying length/rating/subject/genre. I put them all under the same roof because, well, I think it makes my profile page look a little less cluttered, and because I like that kind of format. If you want to suggest themes/scenarios/etc, please feel free to do so in the reviews, but I cannot promise I'll use your idea (though in all likelihood, I will). Even better, write it out yourself! **

**I will include the following header with each drabble, so at least you know what you're getting yourself into. **

**Title: **Cloudy Days**  
Date: **7/21/2013**  
Summary: **John and Kelly share a few thoughts while watching the clouds at dusk after a hard day's training. **  
Rating:** K+ for discussions of mortality**  
Genre: **Friendship**  
Main Characters: **John-117, Kelly-087

"That one looks like a rabbit," Kelly said, pointing to a cloud. The two moons above reflected enough light to see the clouds by, though it was still dark.

"Yeah," John agreed. He shifted slightly. The grass was soft under his back, and the night air was warm. Kelly's soft breathing next to him was a comforting sound.

"We lost today." Kelly sounded frustrated.

"I know. It was my fault." John shook his head slightly when Kelly drew a breath to contradict him. "I sent Sam in before we had good intel. I should have listened to Serin."

"She's devious," Kelly huffed. "She thinks everyone is setting a trap for her. Maybe it's paranoia."

John shook his head. "It's leadership," he argued. "When you have to command everyone, send them into danger, you _have_ to think everything's a trap. She's a better leader than I am."

"Maybe. I don't think so." Kelly plucked a long stalk of grass and chewed on it. "You're stronger, faster, _and_ more aware of your teammates."

"But she's smarter."

"So? Smarts only get soldiers so far."

"Up the command tree." John knew Kelly was right – if it came down to a straight battle, _he_ was the kind of commander soldiers wanted. But taking enemy bases was Serin's specialty.

"Do you want to be an officer?" Kelly asked incredulously.

John shifted uncomfortably. He hadn't told anyone, but yes, he wanted to lead soldiers. He didn't want to leave the field, but he _liked_ being in charge. He had more control over the situation – though Chief Mendez would squash that concept immediately by reminding the child that war was never controllable. Soldiers could only try to control who their bullets hit. Leaders, though, could aim both soldiers _and_ bullets.

"John, answer me. Do you want to be a desk jockey?" Kelly rolled up onto her side, staring at her friend.

"No," John muttered, looking away.

"You're lying," Kelly said accusingly.

"I don't want to be a desk jockey," John snapped. "But I _do_ like leading."

"You're good at it – of course you like it. I like running." Kelly lay back down. "Because I'm good at it. And you lead Blue Team, and someday, I'll bet you lead all of us. But don't go climbing the command tree so much that I never see you again, okay? I like taking orders from you. They make sense."

Kelly was still bitter about being subbed into Maroon this afternoon, then. Joshua had needed the advantage her speed gave him, but he hadn't utilized her, and John's Blue Team – with Sam and Fred, this time – had easily overpowered Josh, Kelly, and Daisy. That had been _before_ Mendez had sent half of the children to take over an "enemy" base manned by the other half, when John had lost his entire team to bad intel.

"Let's go back to cloud watching," John suggested after a few minutes. "That one looked like a sniper rifle."

"No guns," Kelly protested. "Tonight's supposed to be animals."

"Sorry. A snake, then." It was a weird, legged snake, but the long cloud _did_ resemble something like a snake.

"It's got legs. It's a lizard."

"Fine, a lizard."

"Forget it, you're in a bad mood." Kelly huffed.

"No, I'm not," John said quietly. "Just thinking."

"Get it out, then. We should get back soon."

"If I do end up leading everyone… When we're real soldiers, like Dr. Halsey said… I'll be responsible for sending you into real combat. You could die. And I'd've sent you to your deaths."

"John." Kelly shook her head slightly. "I may be a simple soldier, but I do know this – a soldier stands between humanity and chaos. The Innies are that chaos now. If I have to die to put them down, then I'll do it. Death doesn't scare me."

"You can't outrun it," John replied.

"Of course not. But I can definitely give it a run for its money. That's all we can ever do. And if I ever get killed on a mission you send me on, I'll die knowing it was a good order that did it."

John simply nodded. "Dr. Halsey said she'd make us into the best soldiers humanity has ever seen, like the ancient Spartans. Maybe we won't die."

"Everyone dies, John," Kelly scoffed. "Dr. Halsey will die someday. So will the Chief."

"Nothing can kill the Chief."

"No, but old age just might."

"He's not _that_ old."

"Time moves ever forward," Kelly said smugly, quoting one of the songs Déjà had been teaching them about recently. "Besides, you haven't sent anyone to their deaths yet. Just make the orders worthwhile. No one can regret dying for a good order."

"What if we get bad orders?"

"Then we don't die."

"Alright."


	2. Clumsy (T)

**Title: **Clumsy**  
Date: **7/21/2013**  
Summary: **Training days for the Spartans get even harder as they are put through puberty in the span of a few months. **  
Rating:** T for minor adult conversations/themes in some of the drabbles**  
Genre: **Friendship/Family, Drama, Humor  
**Main Characters: **features all named canon Spartan-IIs who made it through augmentations

_~~James-005~~_

James shook his head slightly in the negative to the doctor's probing questions as the man asked about any soreness, tightness, or pain. "Just the usual," he said quietly. "Growth pains."

"Good." The doctor gently massaged James's arms, feeling for abnormalities. "And your coordination?"

"It's off," the child admitted reluctantly.

"How so?"

"I overreach all the time," James reported. "I've been knocking over water bottles mostly."

The doctor nodded. "That is to be expected. We'll be through this stage in another month. Your brain will learn quickly how to judge distances with your newly-longer arms. Any trouble breathing?"

"No, doctor."

"Good. Well, you check out. Do you have any concerns." The older man smiled in a friendly way, and James returned the smile slightly. He liked this doctor, and hoped that, next time, he could get the same one. The others were colder, like he was a science experiment.

"No, sir," the child responded. All the aches and pains had causes – either his rapid rate of growth or Chief Mendez's latest sadistic training exercise, which hadn't gotten any easier with such gangly bodies.

The doctor nodded and shooed him away gently. James made an effort to remember the man's name – Dr. Edwards. Perhaps he could request a permanent reassignment.

James rejoined his group, who were silent, lined up in a double-row along the side of the hallway. They would be retrieved by a trainer any minute – James had been the last one out of the office, even though others seemed to be having more problems than he did accepting their rapidly-changing bodies. He recognized Kelly at the front of the line, standing next to John, as usual, and waved at both before standing next to Naomi.

"How'd it go?" she murmured.

"Good," James replied. "You?"

Naomi sighed, smacking at her budding chest – and then wincing. "They're just so damn painful," she replied. "And the docs won't cut 'em off."

"Why not?" James asked, puzzled. He couldn't see how breasts – apparently another side-effect of puberty, at least for the girls – would help them become soldiers.

"I dunno, they just won't," Naomi inhaled sharply, turning back to the front, as their trainer arrived and barked at them. James let the topic go – it was clearly a sore one – and said a short personal prayer to thank whatever God or gods were out there that he had been born male and stayed that way through the past few months. He knew Kirk was having an adverse reaction to the HGH that made him grow "manboobs" as the trainers so called them.

_~~Jai-006~~_

Adrianna and Mike, his fellow Gray Team members, were losing. Jai gritted his teeth as John's Blue Team ran right over them, literally – Kelly pushed Mike off of the rope ladder and he barely managed to grab back on five feet below her, but she was already at the top. Adrianna and Sam were sparring, hand-to-hand. Sam had responded much more favorably to the HGH than the girl, and was a block-like ball of muscle, though Adrianna was nearly four inches taller.

"Come on," Jai yelled, angry at both of his teammates, their opponents, and John. For his part, Jai's fellow team leader watched the scene calmly, his eyes tracking every movement.

The cage surrounding Jai was impenetrable, and even if he tried breaking out, the slightest motion would drop the cage onto the stun-mines below. He and John weighed about the same, which was why they had been locked up and their teams told to rescue them. The first to release their team leader would get dessert – and the equal-distribution cage would drop the other team leader onto the mines.

Adrianna, Mike, Sam, and Kelly had started at the other end of the obstacle course, nearly three hundred meters to the east. The first part had been easy, and the pairs had avoided each other, but with a pit of acid – at least, that's what Jai supposed it was, though it could have been green water for all they knew, but Chief Mendez's tests always had a twist like that to them – they had been funneled onto the same ladder-and-pulley system and now fought over who got to cross first. Barring a disaster, whoever crossed first would likely win.

Kelly shoved Mike as he topped the ladder. She was holding the bucket which would carry over two kids – barely – for herself and Sam, who was still at the bottom of the ladder, tussling with Adrianna.

"Sam, let's go," Kelly yelled, ducking Mike's meaty fists. Her teammate abandoned his task of beating the snot out of Adrianna and scrambled up the ladder.

Two against one, Mike lost almost as soon as Sam gained a foothold. Jai's teammate retreated part-way down the ladder and Blue Team took the bucket across the pool of acidic liquid.

Blue Team scampered easily across the remaining obstacles, including through a deep pond of muck covered in barbed wire, reminiscent of World War II trenches. Grey Team fell farther behind and Jai prepared himself for a drop into the stun mines as Kelly and Sam reached the platforms that would allow them to release their team leader.

"Ready?"

Jai blinked in confusion when John looked over at him, speaking. Blue-One's cage was already opening and Kelly was moving towards Gray One's cage.

"Drop me," Jai said gruffly.

"Don't be absurd," Kelly scolded, inserting the key into the lock and releasing the door. "We never leave a man behind, even if he _is_ technically on the other team. Those stun rounds could seriously injure you."

"On three," John ordered. Jai looked over the course – Mike and Adrianna were still struggling towards him, unwilling to admit defeat. Frowning, Jai shook his head.

"I'd rather 'die' than be captured by the enemy," he snarled, sitting down in the cage. He did so without care for the disturbance he caused and the bottom of his stomach suddenly dropped out as the cage fell. Kelly's hand snapped out, but for once, she was too late.

John leapt from his cage as it, too, began to follow its brother towards the mines after a brief jolt upwards. Jai had a brief hope that the Blue Team leader would fall with him – it would show the prick right, he figured – but Sam caught his friend at the last second and Jai closed his eyes as the cage impacted on the mine-sown ground.

Explosions ripped through the ground, throwing Jai and his cage upwards slightly. The stun-mines generally came with lots of noise and light, and didn't fail to deliver this time. Jai spat out blood from where he had bitten his tongue, his ears ringing, his eyes seeing nothing but bright fuzzy spots.

He had lost – again. Of course he had lost. Mike and Adrianna hadn't _really_ wanted to save him, after all. They didn't accept his position as Grey Leader. Besides, no one beat John, Kelly, and Sam when they were on a team – they were inseparable on and off the field.

Chief Mendez suddenly appeared. The only reason Jai knew it was him was because of the man's boots. He yelled something – Jai made out the words "walk" and "trainee," and assumed he was being given an order to walk it off, so he tottered to his feet and started jogging.

Mike and Adrianna joined him silently. He didn't speak to them, and they didn't acknowledge him.

_~~Li-008~~_

Weightless. It was Li's favorite way to spend time. The pains and aches caused by his rapid growth just seemed to melt away, though he couldn't stay in the microgravity chamber for long.

"Your time is up, trainee."

Li sighed quietly but pushed off of the wall, floating to the access hatch. "Trainee 008, reporting."

The door opened and he cycled into the hatch, where gravity began coming back slowly with the atmosphere. His hair floated back down to brush slightly against the back of his neck. With the HGH, it was growing too fast to be cut down to his usual buzz cut daily, so he had to settled for a haircut once a week.

The martial arts overseer, Algoski, met him outside the facility. "Ready?" he asked, though he knew Li was eager to resume martial arts training. While they had been growing so much, so quickly, Algoski had refused to continue teaching his protégé the more advanced techniques until he re-learned all the basics.

Li followed Algoski into the training facility. "We will begin with breathing and meditation exercises." This came as no surprise – it was the usual warm-up now. They sat facing each other on the exercise mats. A few pairs of children were sparring on the mats, but they avoided the pair on the floor. Kelly and a few other Spartans were practicing their sprints. It was peaceful in the gym – everyone was working out hard, and it smelled like teenagers, sweat, blood, and cleaning solution.

The child centered himself and breathed steadily, matching the natural rhythm of his body and the people around him. He knew them as well as he could know anyone. They were his brothers and sisters, more so than the people fading from his memories with each new day.

_~~Naomi-010~~_

Naomi sat down, breathing heavily. All of her team was wiped out, but there was food, so they made themselves sit up straighter as they inhaled their allotted food. The one thing they had plenty of was food and water – their bodies growing at such a rate meant they burned tons of calories on top of the fuel they needed to keep up with training. So the trainers didn't restrict how much they ate, though no one was in danger of getting fat on the super-nutritious diet.

"Fall in!"

Naomi jerked upright. She had been half-asleep and still mechanically chewing. Everyone around her was jumping upright as well; they lined up against the wall as they had been taught.

"We're going for a nice little jog, soldiers." Chief Mendez sounded positively cheerful, for him. Naomi groaned to herself, but she didn't utter a sound. The Chief would be on her like a ton of bricks.

They started out on the road that led out of the training base. Soon, they were in the woods, and Naomi was starting to regret her third helpings. Her stomach seemed weighted. She concentrated on putting one foot in front of the other, not tripping over her overlong legs, and following the back in front of her. She knew who it was, but was too tired to think of his name, and simply set her eyesight on his heels, matching her rhythm to his.

She may have slept on the run – Naomi couldn't tell. She stumbled to a halt when the boy in front of her did, and found herself back in the training camp at the barracks.

"Shower," Chief Mendez ordered, waving them inside. They saluted and broke for the blessed showers, shoving to get first. Naomi slipped around a pair of grabbling children and made it inside just after Kelly, who was always first. She took a corner shower. They were the best because the water came to them first, so it was hottest.

They only had two minutes to soap up, scrub, and wash their hair. Naomi scrubbed at her scalp, her silver-blonde hair showing dirt more easily than her comrades' brown or black hair. She was one of the only blondes in the outfit.

Naomi hurried through the body scrubbing to give herself ten seconds of simple soaking at the end of her shower before the water shut off without warning. The naked girls left their showers and headed into their barracks to get dressed into their fatigues and fall into bed. On the other side of the building, the boys would be doing the same.

"Hey, Naomi." It was Kelly; Naomi leaned out over the bunk and found Kelly looking up at her. "Do your breasts hurt?" she asked.

"Yeah," Naomi sighed, rubbing at her chest. "But the doc said it's normal."

Grace joined in from her bed, which was on top of Naomi's. "But he said we need to watch for lumps," she reminded the other two. Naomi hadn't done so in the shower, so she lay on her back and gently probed along her budding chest.

"Clear," she reported with a yawn.

"Same here," Kelly replied. "G'night."

"Night."

"Sleep deep." Naomi rolled over onto her side and then onto her belly, trying to find a comfortable position in which to sleep. She hadn't found one before it claimed her, though, and her eyes closed.

_~~Daisy-023~~_

"Maroon-Two, this is M-One do you copy?"

"Copy," Daisy replied, smiling tightly as Joshua called her in _again_. He was constantly on the radio.

"Move up five meters," Joshua ordered. He was still wavering between liking "Josh" and "Joshua," but Daisy would always call him by his full name. She hated being called "Dai" by the other kids, and she liked the way the second syllable in her team leader's name sounded.

_Focus, Daisy,_ she scolded herself. She moved forward the prescribed number of meters.

"Enemy contact!" Maroon-Three, Solomon this time, suddenly yelled into the radio. There was the staccato report of stun-round guns. At least, Daisy _hoped_ they were stun rounds this time, and not live ammo.

"Three's down," Joshua panted. He was running. "Returning to base."

Daisy retreated back to her former position. Joshua had jumped the gun – again – in ordering her to leave the base. Now she wouldn't be able to cover his retreat.

Joshua burst out of the brush into the clearing with the Maroon Team's flag and zigged to the left, towards Daisy's position. He didn't get half-way there before Blue Team – John, Kelly, and Sam – appeared at the edge of the clearing and brought him down with their stun guns. He lay in the grass, silent, though he was only stunned. He couldn't move until the exercise was over.

Daisy waited for her opportunity. She had a sniper rifle, loaded with stun rounds, but she wasn't all that good at sniping, so she waited for Kelly to move. Kelly _always_ went for the flag, because she was the fastest.

Sure enough, Kelly broke cover within seconds of Joshua's fall. Daisy pulled the trigger, but missed – and John and Sam immediately fired on her position. The sting of a stun round his Daisy on the shoulder and her arm went numb almost immediately. The numbness started spreading – it would soon paralyze her – and Daisy tried once more to hit Kelly.

But Kelly running through an open field was a tiny, moving target. She reached the flag and paused just long enough to grab it and turn around, barely a microsecond, but it was all the time Daisy needed. She fired again and saw Kelly curse aloud, though she couldn't hear it, as the round impacted her side. The numbness would take her down.

Maroon Team had lost, but at least Daisy had taken one Blue with her. She lay in her perch, waiting for the stun round to wear off, as Chief Mendez took the field and sent Blue Team – including Kelly, supported by Sam – back to the barracks to clean up and rotate back into the gym.

He then came over to stand under Daisy's tree. "Not your best shot," he said gruffly. Daisy climbed down, carefully and slowly, and struck a salute with her numb hand.

"Sir, yes, sir," Daisy agreed.

"Get your teammates off the field," he ordered, marching away. Daisy went first to Joshua, who could hardly move because everything was numb, and hauled him to his feet. Then they found Solomon, whose helmet had taken the round meant for the back of his head and transferred a numbing shock to his brain. They carried him out and reported to the gym.

_~~Joshua-029~~_

"Alright, what about if we blindfold you _and_ tie a hand behind your back?" Kelly said challengingly.

"I need both hands to solder with," Joshua argued.

"Okay… What if we scramble all the parts?"

"Doesn't matter," John said quietly. "He can feel them. Let's try this for real."

Joshua blinked. "On a real car?" he asked, tilting his head.

"Guys, remember how much trouble we got into last time we ran off?" Linda asked.

"Yeah, I don't want to give the Chief any reason to make our lives any more difficult," Fred added.

"Come _on_," Kelly said excitedly. "We could go for a joyride. We'll be back before they know we're gone. Promise."

"See, _that's _what scares me," Sam muttered unhappily.

Josh grinned. "Well, _I_ am going to go hotwire a Warthog. Anyone who's not a chicken can join me." He dashed out of the barracks through the already-open window. He had been practicing on a replica of a Warthog dashboard they'd made, gearing up for the next big training mission the Chief sent them on.

John and Kelly followed him on a silent sprint through the compound. The vehicles and Pelicans were all locked down, but that meant nothing. Kelly picked the lock to the vehicle lot easily, and John picked one out. Josh went to work.

It was surprisingly easy. Josh kept expecting something to go wrong – for them to be spotted, or the car not to start. But it roared to life without a hitch.

"Keep it down," John hissed.

"I got it," Josh murmured back, sliding into the driver's seat. "Let's go!"

Kelly climbed into the back and John got into the passenger seat. "Move out," John said importantly.

"Aye, sir!" Josh gunned the engine and they shot out of the open yard. The guards on the perimeter definitely heard it, but they were gone before the adults could get to the lot.

Josh drove them out of the compound, straight towards the outer gate. They had already been made, so he didn't wait to let Kelly open it, bouncing straight through.

As soon as they were out of sight of the compound, Josh slowed down slightly and turned on the headlights. They cruised down the road. "Where to?" Josh asked John.

"Get off the road," Kelly suggested. "There's lights behind us."

"Towards the old lookout," John ordered. Josh waited for a break in the brush at the side of the road and then drove through it, heading to the south and west. It was a very short drive, though it took longer to hike there.

Josh slid to a halt in a move he'd always wanted to try, fish-tailing the back end around so they faced back the way they'd come. Kelly was out as soon as it was safe to dive from the Warthog, laughing. John followed suit quickly, and Josh shut the engine down before following.

They returned some hours later. Josh lay down on his cot, exhausted but content. It was nice to spend time with his siblings outside of the rigorous demands of training. And he had finally hotwired his first real vehicle.

_~~Vinh-030~~_

"Ready."

Vinh focused on her goal. One hundred meters away was a supply depot. All seventy-five kids were lined up around the pile, equidistant from it.

Kelly would get there first. She was the fastest. But Vinh was no slouch herself. Fred would likely come in second, if he started fast enough and could keep from tripping. The Human Growth Hormone injections had been bumped up to make all the boys catch up to the girls' height, and as a result, everyone was having trouble with coordination and moving quickly.

"First one to the pile gets first pick of weapons. Simulation starts in thirty seconds." Chief Mendez was yelling through a bullhorn form his position in the sky above them, holding onto the open hatch of a Pelican.

Vinh spied what she wanted – a rifle, probably loaded with stun rounds, sitting next to a backpack stuffed full of _something_, or several somethings. Grabbing both would be easy.

Chief Mendez gave the starting signal and Vinh launched herself towards the pile. Kelly made it first, of course, but Vinh was third to the pile, and first on her side. She grabbed the rifle and dashed back to the treeline. She had to make it before the thirty seconds were up – she had to be in position before the simulation started.

She shinnied up a tree as quickly as possible and wedged herself in the densest patch she could find, looking out between the branches. The slowest of the children were just making the treeline when the supply depot vanished in a large explosion. Vinh covered her eyes and looked down.

They were almost fifty kilometers from the compound, she estimated. The Pelicans that had flown the children out to this remote location were all gone; only Chief Mendez's Pelican remained in the air above them.

Vinh covered their retreat, along with several other children. John had marked their rendezvous in the Pelican. They would have to regroup, examine what supplies everyone had managed to snatch, and then start back towards the compound. Chances were, they would be harassed by the trainers all the way back to the compound. Vinh concentrated on her goal – she'd let John, Fred, and Serin figure out how to return them all the compound in one piece. _She _would concentrate on keeping their six safe.

_~~Samuel-034~~_

Sam chucked the discus out across the field. His form was perfect and it sailed into the distance. When it landed, Kelly dashed out with the measuring line. She came back smirking. "Eighty three meters and change."

He grinned. "Beat that," the boy challenged, looking at Fred.

"You know I can't," Fred answered with a shake of his head.

"Oh, come on, the _ladies_ are watchin'!" Kelly, Vinh, Linda, and Grace simultaneously jumped Sam. They _hated_ being called ladies, especially in that context. They were soldiers and demanded the respect from Sam any comrade would. And they would beat it into him if necessary.

"Take it back," Kelly ordered, sitting on Sam's chest. Linda was holding his arms above his head and Grace had his feet pinned. It had taken them a matter of seconds.

"Alright, I take it back," Sam growled good-naturedly. "Fred's still a chicken, but you aren't ladies." He grinned. "You're hell spawn if anything."

Kelly nodded. "Fair enough." She got up and gave Sam a hand to lever him to his feet. "Come on, try again. Maybe you can break your record."

Sam shook his head. "I dunno, just not feelin' it today. Ninety meters was better than I've ever thrown, then or since, even with a perfect form. Maybe it's a record."

"Now who's chicken?" Fred asked, punching his brother gently in the arm. "Come on, go for it. You won't get better without practice."

"Trainees, fall in!"

_Chief Mendez's bark could make the dead rise_, Sam thought as he ran to his assigned position. _Well, at least we know his bark means we aren't getting bitten – yet. _He grinned slightly at his own joke and lined up with Isaac and Douglas.

_~~Isaac-039~~_

The ground was hard under his back. Isaac reached for a nearby bottle of water, but managed instead to knock it over, spilling its contents. "Damn it," he swore listlessly. He had no energy, it felt like – his limbs weighed a ton. He put his arm back on the ground – it felt like InstaCrete.

"Oh, you're awake." Isaac looked to the left and saw steel bars and a tallish guard standing outside them.

His mind swam for a moment and then he remembered – he had been captured on a training mission. Fred had sent him to scout out the trainers' base, but he had been ambushed fifty meters from the fence and clubbed over the head. He had lost consciousness quickly, and apparently, woken up in the brig, as it were.

"Good. Then you can start talking." The guard smirked. The trainers had learned to fear the Spartan children, and were becoming ruthless to the point of actual injury in the training simulations, now that the "children" looked like full-grown adults. The HGH had pushed them all through puberty in the past few months, and Isaac had been one of the last to finish the growth spurt phase, and he was still getting used to his body.

Isaac had been taught techniques to withstand torture, so he wasn't afraid, but he hoped Fred would bust him out soon. It couldn't take long. They wouldn't leave him – he knew that. He would use that to withstand the trainers' idea of "gathering intel" until Fred came for him.

_~~Douglas-042~~_

Déjà was sitting on her pedestal, overseeing the game. Douglas frowned down at the board. "Knight to E5," he ordered. The holographic piece moved accordingly.

Chess was an ancient game but still viable in teaching tactics and strategy, force deployment, and other lessons necessary for the UNSC's future soldiers.

"King to A8," Doug's opponent, Serin, said calmly. She almost always won chess games, but Doug was giving her a good run for her money. He had his knights, a bishop, and three pawns left. She had hoarded her higher-ranking pieces, trading away her pawns and rooks to save her queen and bishops.

The pair continued trading moves, as serious as though they were truly commanding troops.

"Pawn to C3," Doug ordered.

"Bishop to C3," Serin countered. The bishop figure approached the pawn and the smaller piece disappeared in a puff of holographic smoke. Doug had succeeded in drawing Serin's second-best piece away from guarding her king, but had given up his last pawn to do so.

"Knight to B4," he continued. "Check."

"Queen to G7." Serin, with five more moves, took down Douglas' last knight and then cornered his king in checkmate.

"I yield," Douglas said good-heartedly.

"And I win." Serin smiled toothily.

"Good game."

"Thanks, Doug. You, too." Serin shook his hand when he offered it.

"Both of you were brilliant," Déjà said quietly. "Now, let us examine the following moves made by both sides."

The entire class were separated into pairs, with the odd child out – this time, it was John's "privilege" – playing against a fragment of Déjà's processing power. Déjà worked with Doug and Serin, showing them a better way to have taken pieces without giving up their own, while simultaneously offering suggestions to the near-forty other pairs of students.

_~~William-043~~_

"Ow." Will sighed and stared into the mirror. He was bleeding slightly from several cuts on his chin, neck, and cheeks. "This is fun."

"It's part of growin' up, kid," the trainer sniggered.

"Yeah, well, 'least I make this look good." He smirked over at John, who looked downright scruffy.

"Don't start," John growled, picking up a razor. He carefully scraped it along his jawline. It caught a couple times and Will snorted as their "fearless leader" scowled.

This new daily hygiene routine involved shaving every morning after showers. Keeping clean-shaven was one of the expectations of the boys. It was a pain in the ass, for everyone, and the doctors were working on a way to keep the boys permanently clean-shaven.

"Alright, ladies, let's go!" The trainers' bark made everyone jump towards the door. They filed out quickly and silently. Some of Will's brothers still had shaving cream stuck to their faces; they quickly wiped it away.

"'Nother day in paradise," Will joked, nudging Josh, who was closest, with a grin. Josh just rolled his eyes in agreement and laughter.

_~~Anton-044~~ (Written in first-person POV)_

It's something they never tell you to expect. Pain, death, mistakes that get you or your team "killed" – you expect those. But the mundane things, like sitting in a tree while your bladder tries to break your concentration, _those_ are what make it hard.

I've broken bones. It hurts, but it's a good kind of hurt – it's a hurt that tells you you've screwed up somehow, and to get your act together. I've bled. That's just messy. I've even cried, sometimes. Not recently. No one does anymore. There's nothing to cry about; we're soldiers.

But the worst thing I have ever experienced is the little things.

It's like when you get back to the barracks and the roof has leaked, but only on your bunk. Or someone reheated the MREs inconsistently and half your portion is ice-cold while the other half is Kelly's-temper-hot. It's not a disaster. It won't _really_ hurt you. But God _damn_ it.

Sometimes I think about some of those old proverbs Déjà, the Chief, and Dr. Halsey sometimes use. My personal favorite is about a straw breaking a camel's back. Apparently, straw stalks are kind of like golden, long grass. Anyway, the point is that they hardly weigh anything, so how could a straw break a camel's back?

Let me explain. That camel can carry hundreds of pounds of supplies (we watched a documentary about the ancient nomadic herders of Earth, and their "copycats" today). They're doing it in heat that can kill a human, with hardly any water, because they store energy in their fatty humps. Two for Bactrian, one for Dromedary. But it's the little things – like a single straw – that can break its back.

I'm kind of like a camel, except I'd be surprised if I was carrying around more than eight or nine percent body fat, due to our rigorous training program. Though with how much we've been eating recently – growing boys and all that – I might have a little flab on me. I doubt it.

But I'm like a camel in that I'll carry huge, heavy loads – by which I mean physical _or_ long, arduous, boring, and/or dangerous missions – but it's the little things that get me into a grumpy mood. My personal straw? Full bladders.

It can be below freezing and I could sit in a tree naked for all I care. But once I have to pee, things get bad _real_ quick.

Maybe it's biological, or evolutionary. We can't run as fast if our bladders are loaded down. It makes a difference. Kelly's always faster after a trip to the lady's room. And we're concentrating on our predicament, so we aren't as alert. Not to mention, it's a _nasty_ feeling. You just wanna let it go.

Needless to say, this is one of those times.

John told me to watch the camp. I've been doing so for seven and a half hours now, lying in this tree – a pine, and it smells wonderful – without moving since Linda last crept by with some warm mush, the last of our "real" supplies.

My replacement will be here in half an hour. Until then, my bladder can wait… John is counting on me, all of Blue Team is. I'll never abandon my post. I'll just think about beaches and sunshine. I don't have to go as badly in warm weather, probably because in the warmth, everything in our bodies expands slightly to release more heat, whereas in the cold, our bodies – especially our blood vessels – constrict to retain it.

_~~Keiichi-047~~_

_Boom._

"That's a loud boom," Keiichi murmured.

"Shut up," Jorge growled, holding a bandage to his head. The wound was still bleeding sluggishly. "They'll hear you."

"Bite me," the slightly shorted boy snapped back.

"Boys." Rene's voice had a touch of waspish authority to it.

Keiichi returned to looking out of the cave mouth. They had retreated here after being ambushed by the trainers – a scouting party, and small, but they had had too many advantages and the children had retreated. That was how Jorge had managed to get cut up, falling into the cave. At least he had found it. They had managed to lose the pursuit.

Keiichi, Jorge, and Rene had been assigned to a section of the forest and told to scout it out. There were half a dozen other three-man teams doing the same thing.

John, Serin, and Fred were back at base, planning their assault. This was the biggest, toughest nut yet. The trainers were tired of being kicked around by kids. They had live ammunition. The kids had body armor, but it wouldn't save them from a headshot.

The trainers had had a week to learn the terrain, whereas the kids had just been dumped here hours ago, all in a jumble thanks to the Pelican's "malfunction" and their required drop into the hot zone. Keiichi still hurt from the two-hundred-meter fall, even though he had been lucky enough not to land on rock like a couple of the "dead" kids already out of the game.

_I just hope that boom was John and not the trainers_, Keiichi thought silently to himself, trying to see if there were still any trainers lurking about. It had been half an hour. _It's probably safe to climb a tree,_ he decided. He signaled his intention to Rene, who was examining the pistol she'd grabbed from one of the adults, and she nodded. Technically, she was in charge of the scouting party, but she never liked being in charge.

Keiichi crept from the cave's mouth, moving immediately into a patch of brush to conceal himself. He zig-zagged from bush to bush until he reached the base of a thick pine and scrambled up it quickly.

Once near the top, the child peeked out from his hiding point and oriented himself. He could see the huge mountains off to his right, the sun over his left shoulder. One of the moons was rising; the other would be out soon. It was bright, despite the clouds drifting lazily to the east. The light glinted off a lake to the north; the trainers' base was near there.

Keiichi could see smoke rising from where the compound was supposed to be. He frowned slightly. He hadn't known they were planning an attack, _and_ his team was too far away to be of any use in the short term, especially with Jorge injured.

Keiichi climbed back into the cave. "Something in the compound's been blown up," he reported. "We're farther away than I thought. It'll take a couple hours to get back if we do it stealthily."

"Alright, let's get moving." Rene hoisted Jorge onto her shoulder and he let her help him out of the cave before disdaining the assistance and walking on his own. They headed north as quickly as possible, keeping alert for more trainer patrols, though Keiichi would have been willing to bet the explosion had called all of them back to the compound quicker than pups to their bitch. It was their stronghold, after all. They didn't stand a chance without it.

_They don't stand a chance with it_, John would have said if he could have heard Keiichi's thoughts. He – and Serin – both had gotten more… sinister… in their leadership. Fred still empathized with his fellows, but those two… Keiichi shuddered.

_Glad they're on my team,_ he thought to himself.

_~~Kurt-051~~_

They climbed up the face of the cliff nimbly and then sat at the top. In the distance, about ten kilometers out, they could see the lights of the compound. Someone was probably searching for them. The pine forests around them gave off a subtle scent, one they had lived around for so long they had to consciously search for it to smell it.

"This is nice," Kelly sighed, wrapping an arm around John and Kurt's shoulders and giving them a one-armed hug. "We should do this more often."

"We shouldn't run away from base too much," John warned. "They'll catch us and we'll be in a lot of trouble."

Kurt snorted. "We've never been told explicitly not to. Think of it as night-time operations training."

"_Or_ we're practicing how to escape an enemy compound," Kelly laughed.

John just shook his head slightly. "Come on, John, get that stick outta your ass," Kurt scolded. "It's a beautiful night, we're all alone for once, and no one knows where we are."

Kelly stood up, restless, and stretched her arms above her head. She smirked softly.

"So, what do you want to do?" she asked, bouncing on her toes.

"I'm enjoying this," John replied, lying back and letting his legs dangle over the edge of the cliff. He looked up at the stars. It wasn't cloudy, which was rare.

Kurt was in agreement. He lay back, copying John. Kelly looked at both of them with disgust but flopped down with her legs over John's thighs, her head on Kurt's shoulder. "Fine, we'll just lie here like boring saps."

"We move all day," John told her, closing his eyes. "Just let us have some down time. Then we'll play tag or something _you_ want to do."

Kurt wrapped an arm around Kelly and she grinned, tilting her head back to look at him. "Don't make any moves," she said teasingly. "I'll break your arm faster than you could cop a feel."

John and Kurt both rolled their eyes. "We know better, Kelly," Josh assured her. "_And_ we respect you."

They were silent for a while, thinking their own thoughts. Kurt smiled slightly, looking at the stars and inventing constellations and backstories.

Jeffrey the rabbit. He was in the stars because he had saved his mate from an evil mountain lion, and the gods honored his sacrifice by putting him in the stars where he could forever watch over his kind.

Magnolia, a six-legged horse. He had been the mount for one of the gods' chosen warriors. He had died on a battlefield in a great war, and taken many enemies with him, and his horse had done the same until a spear through the side killed him.

Kurt invented stories for several other constellations by the time Kelly was too restless to lie still any more. They chased each other for a while, playing a game of tag, and then climbed back down the cliff to the waiting Warthog and drove back to the compound. They managed to stash the vehicle in the forest and hid it from casual searching and then climbed over the fence and sneaked back into the barracks without being detected.

_~~Jorge-052~~_

"Shhhh, they'll hear you," Cassandra hissed. Jorge just rolled his eyes. He was quiet – more so than _her_.

They slipped over the fence and into the grassy field beyond, dropping to their bellies and crawling away from the compound. No high-profile Warthog stealing for them. They left that the John, Josh, Kurt, and Kelly. The pair preferred to sneak out with emphasis on _sneak_.

Cass got to the cover of the treeline first and dashed off without waiting for Jorge. With an annoyed huff, the boy chased after her. Their destination was a hidden little patch of heaven, protected by a fallen pine tree that had rotted underneath and was covered in soft moss and grass. They had a small stash of things there – a few small knives, some food, water. It was their go-to place when they sneaked out.

Cass, of course, got there first, and she slid into the depression beneath the tree with a faint giggle. Jorge followed eagerly, but didn't get far before she grabbed him and pulled him into the space, locking their lips.

"We would be in _so_ much trouble if they knew this is what we're doing," Jorge breathed quietly when Cass had released him.

Cass snorted softly. "Yeah, well, I don't care. Besides, it's not like we're having sex. We're just… fooling around. Like any good teenager does."

"They're going to figure it out soon," Jorge insisted.

"So?"

"_So,_ I don't particularly fancy a lecture from Chief Mendez about fraternization between soldiers."

"Ugh, you always get like this. Go home, then. I'll kiss myself."

"That's stupid." Jorge leaned in slightly, brushing his lips across Cass's nose. He'd gotten good at it; she turned a faint pink with both embarrassment and enjoyment. "I _like_ kissing you. But we still shouldn't be doing this."

"I bet that's what Kelly's doing," Cass said thoughtfully, digging through their stored rations. "Practicing on John, or Fred, or Kurt. Who do you think?"

"I don't really care," Jorge answered truthfully.

"Alright. But we can't be the _only_ pair trying this out. I mean, we're all going through puberty now – the others _have_ to be feeling the same, right?" Cass actually sounded a little insecure.

Jorge had been having the same thoughts. Perhaps he and Cass were a little older than the others – he didn't know his birthdate, and neither did anyone else – and that was why they were responding so… _hormonally_… to the induced puberty. He didn't like the idea that he was simply more… _horny_… than his brothers.

"Maybe," Jorge temporized. "I don't care, Cass. What've got tonight?"

"A little new-fashioned candlelight," she said, lighting a lantern and setting it to the side, "and some _super_ romantic crackers."

Jorge grinned and lay down so his head was in her lap. "Depends on how you feed them to me," he told her cheekily.

"You pig," she teased, dropping a salty cracker into his open mouth and following it with a short kiss. Jorge just grinned.

_Life is good_, he thought.

That's when Chief Mendez roared into their "sanctuary" and both children saw their lives pass before their eyes.

_~~Linda-058~~_

"Concentrate, trainee!"

Linda didn't allow herself to frown. She lay on her stomach, controlling her breathing. The two budding breasts that had seemed to grow overnight – and practically had, thanks to the growth hormones everyone was taking – put her chest higher than she wanted it, throwing off her aim.

"You'll have to relearn how to shoot," Chief Mendez had told her without sympathy.

To herself, Linda wondered why the doctors didn't just remove the breasts from all the female Spartans. Breasts were completely useless – and a hindrance, it seemed to Linda – to a soldier.

Linda concentrated on her target, a human silhouette nearly eight hundred meters down range. There was a faint breeze coming from the west, into her face. The sun was bright in her face.

"Take the shot, worm," the trainer barked. Linda didn't jump, though he was practically standing on top of her – she was used to the man's harsh voice and tuned it out.

_Breathe in, breathe out. _The familiar aching in her body, caused by the accelerated growth, spiked in her chest as she forced a deep breath into her lungs. _Let the reticule float._ She hadn't needed to think so consciously about a shot for a long time. Everyone agreed that Linda was the best sniper.

She caressed the trigger once and then gently squeezed it with just the tip of her finger. It had taken almost an hour to re-learn how to do that, even. With the growth of her body came muscles, ones that amplified every movement.

The target shivered, indicating she had at least hit it, but Linda frowned. "Three o'clock," she told the trainer. The shot had swung to the right at the very last second – though she couldn't see the hole punched through her target, she felt it in her core.

He nodded, frowning. "Again, trainee."

Linda took another deep breath. She could sit out here all day, sniping away at targets her teammates couldn't hope to hit, perfecting every tiny action that went into the million dollar shots. Knowing that sniping was Linda's talent – the only thing she seemed good at, next to the other children – Mendez had ordered her and several other promising snipers to spend the day re-learning the trade. The trainer in charge was a former sniper himself, ruthless with mistakes, and not gentle, but certainly preferable to – Linda shuddered mentally – running laps against Kelly.

So Linda refocused.

_~~Malcolm-059~~_

Malcolm steadied his breathing, concentrating. With the growth spurts he – and everyone else – was going through, basic tasks became more difficult. The kid in front of him leapt for the monkey-bar-style swinging ropes and barely managed to grab it, hauling himself up and leaping for the next rope.

Chief Mendez had made this obstacle course, but this time, he'd added what the Chief called "incentive." Said incentive came in the form of powerful stun mines sown throughout the course. It was a _real_ game of "the ground is lava."

It was Malcolm's turn; he saw the rope coming towards him and timed his jump almost perfectly.

It wasn't _perfect, _though. His body had grown even since last night. The extra weight threw his jump off, and he started dropping faster than he thought he would. The rope swung by and he snapped out a hand to grab it. His arms, though, were longer than he remembered, and he ended up grasping the air beyond the rope. He fell.

He hit the dirt just as Rufus, who had been behind him, yelled, "Duck and cover!"

Malcolm curled into a tight ball as the first mine went off to his left. It deafened him, which was great, because he could see – just before the rounds flung so much dirt up everything went dark and he closed his eyes again. The ground shook for thirty seconds as mines were set off across the obstacle course.

Malcolm sat up when it was all over, his head throbbing painfully. He couldn't even hear any ringing – a bad sign, he knew from experience. Fred's face suddenly swam into view; it looked like he was yelling something, but Malcolm couldn't make it out and just shook his head, pointing to his ears.

Fred touched them and his hand came away bloody. Someone behind Malcolm picked him up, setting him on his feet – it had to be one of the adult trainers. Fred carefully steadied him as he stumbled forward.

Malcolm recognized Chief Mendez; the taller man leaned over slightly and waved a hand in the trainee's face. He spoke, but Malcolm couldn't hear anything; he made the hand-signal for silent communications only.

"Medic," Chief Mendez ordered with hand-signals, pointing towards the infirmary farther inside the compound. Fred and Arthur supported him on the way over. The doctors quickly repaired both eardrums and a bad bruise to the ankle. They told him to take the rest of the day off, but he ignored their advice – as usual – and went instead back to the obstacle course.

Everyone else was at dinner, so he had to place to himself. He looked around just to be sure, and then climbed the first portion quickly. He went more slowly than usual, making sure to concentrate on just how much power he had to put into every leap, how far he could reach.

He came to the portion where he had fallen and took a moment to orient himself. He jumped onto the first rope – it wasn't swinging any more – and moved quickly onto the second.

Malcolm finished more slowly than he would have liked, but he finished. And when he came to the rope marking the boundaries of the course, Chief Mendez was waiting for him.

"Sir!" Malcolm came to attention. Chief Mendez waved at him to stand at ease.

"You got your entire team killed," he said without preamble.

"Yes, sir," Malcolm answered without hesitation.

"Good men and women would have been dead if those hadn't been stun mines. In battle, you can't miss your target – no matter what that target it. Got it?"

"Yes, sir!"

"Why did you come out here tonight?"

Malcolm glanced over Chief Mendez's shoulder at the lights of the compound.

"I needed to prove to myself I could do it, sir, that if I needed to do it again, I could do it. That I'm not a failure, sir."

Chief Mendez stared at him quietly for a minute before simply nodding and turning on his heel, heading towards the dining hall. After a moment, Malcolm followed. He was hungry – and proud. He'd done the course. Late, after screwing up badly, but he'd done it.

His teammates greeted him with various jokes about being dead.

"Food's better than I thought, for Hell," William snickered. "Wait, no, I'm so precious I'd go to Heaven, of course, but the rest of you cretins… Maybe I'll go to Hell just to stay with you all." He smiled winningly at Kelly, who socked him in the shoulder. Hard.

Malcolm got a tray of food – the usual glop – and sat down with Fred, Solomon, Arthur, Kelly, John, and Sam around him. They talked quietly about the training exercise.

_~~Maria-062~~_

"Alriiiiight," Maria whooped, standing in a slight crouch to keep her balance. Beneath her feet, the board – admittedly splintery, but she didn't mind – surfed along the wave beautifully. The sunlight glinted off the water like off the edges of thousands of sniper rifles. In the depths, she sometimes caught glimpses of giant swimming creatures that could, likely, swallow her whole, but they never surfaced and were extremely shy.

"You go, girl!" Fhajad yelled, laughing, from the beach. The others in the group were in various states of relaxation, swimming, and surfing. A few were in the woods, gathering supplies, as always.

Since ditching Mendez after he sabotaged their air tanks, they had been living on this island, and it was going well. They set watches every night, slept lightly, explored their island, set up supply caches for when the Chief came to get them, but mostly, they played and trained and sparred.

It was a whole new environment. Balancing on a surfboard used different muscles and techniques than balancing on a beam. Cooking one's own clams, small wild game, and other – mostly experimental – foodstuffs was a novel experience. They'd done some cooking in the woods, during training exercises back on Reach, but this was wholly new.

Maria reveled in all the activities, but surfing was, by far, her favorite. Every kid was graceful, but on a surfboard, even a hand-made one, Maria found herself. Just as much as soldiering, planning and then carrying out attacks, _this_ was something she was born to do.

So she did it. For hours on end, Maria surfed in the beautiful waves of green, blue, and gold.

_~~Solomon-069~~_

Déjà appeared on her pedestal as per her usual, smiling gently at everyone. Solomon dropped into his seat – the one closest to the snack jar, though he knew Kelly, right behind him, would beat him there as she always did.

"Today's lesson will be about music from the early twenty-first century," Déjà told everyone. They had covered twentieth century music the day before, during this first part of the day's schooling, and it seemed the AI was willing to follow in that direction for a while. "Does anyone know of any songs from this era?"

No one did, of course. They didn't have time to listen to music. "Very well. I will play a sample of several genres of music for your enjoyment. If anyone falls asleep again, I will assign a song for you to memorize and sing for us tomorrow." It wasn't an idle threat, but she said it gently. She did everything gently.

Solomon didn't like the first sample – it was someone screaming curse words in a raw voice, referencing something about another singer, he guessed. Déjà called it "heavy metal."

He kind of liked the second one, in which a girl sang in a peppy voice about some boy. The chorus was catchy – "Hey, I just met you, and this is crazy, but here's my number, so call me maybe." Solomon didn't know what a number was, but apparently it facilitated communication. Déjà said it had been, at one point, one of the most popular "pop" songs of the era.

"This one has a music video to go with it," Déjà said by way of introduction. A middle-aged man appeared on the hologram. It was a 2D rendering, as was everything back in those days, and the man was clearly of Asian descent, though his whiter skin and rounder face made Solomon think he was likely from one of the Koreas – they had been split at that time, right?

Solomon couldn't follow what the music was saying – it was in another language, one he didn't recognize – and the music video made no sense. The sample Déjà played for them had the middle-aged man dancing, whom she called "Sy," in a kind of horsey gallop, yelling "Oh pah kahng nahm style" over and over. Solomen had no idea what he was trying to say, but again, it was catchy, and he murmured it to himself between samples.

The next one was just stupid. A boy – dressed in weird pants that made it look like he was wearing a diaper – danced on stage, crying "Baby, baby, baby, ohhhh" over and over. His hair was blond-brown and swept back in perfectly-manicured waves from his baby face. Solomon rolled his eyes. Déjà caught the movement and smiled slightly.

They explored samples of country western music, more pop hits like Lady Gaga and Beyonce and Julianne, several "parodies" of popular songs, and other genres. Solomon found that he liked all of the songs that told stories, and would have listened to the full song – several times – to get all the lyrics if Déjà had let him.

However, the lesson was soon over, and they moved on to mathematics. Solomon disliked math – the logical sense was untrustworthy. The only things that followed math were things he couldn't control, like a ship's trajectory or the gravity well of a planet. Humans were unpredictable, and as soldiers, they'd be fighting humans.

But Solomon knew he had to do well. He did well in lessons because he didn't do so well out on the training course. He had to be good at _something_. Everyone else had talents. Kelly was fast; Linda could shoot the wings off a fly. Will was a jokester. It might not help on the battlefield, but at least it was a talent. Solomon didn't know what his talent was, but he was hoping Déjà might help him find it in the classroom, since he hadn't found it on the training field with the Chief.

_~~Arthur-079~~_

"Are we ready for this?" John murmured quietly.

Arthur nodded with everyone else. There were three in the group who wouldn't be going in – they was staying back to direct the distraction part of the "grand plan."

Fred would be leading Kelly and Grace into the base. They would extract their target – Isaac had been captured – and get out safely while the rest of them led the trainers around the forest in a game of tag.

"Move out," John ordered.

Arthur found his target, one of the trainers on a scouting patrol, and turned him from the route he'd been following with a well-placed pebble sent skittering off a tree as though a kid had brushed against it. Not that any of the kids could possibly be that clumsy – well, normally. The HGH program was making everyone kind of… clumsy. No one liked it.

The trainer turned towards the noise and stalked the bush Arthur rattled with a long piece of string tied to a branch in it. He'd done that before the trainer had come through this area.

The trainer led with his gun, of course. Which meant that Arthur snatched it on his way running out of the bush, causing the trainer to yelp and then roar in anger.

The adult ran after Arthur, but the kid knew his route already and led the man on a wild goose chase and then into an ambush, much like the one that had captured Isaac. Except the kids took no prisoners – they knocked the trainer out and stored him in a cave, bound and gagged, with the others they had managed to capture in the "round up."

Then Arthur reported to their base camp, far from the trainer's base, and found he was one of the last back, since his target had been a little slower than the rest. Isaac was resting near the fire – one eye blackened badly, his left arm in a sling, several bruises on his neck and face. Arthur gave his report to John, who sent him off to get some grub from the fire. It tasted horrible, like someone had regurgitated _last_ night's dinner, recooked it in vinegar, and served it unevenly heated. But it was better than nothing. He gobbled it down and went to sit with Isaac for a while; they spoke quietly.

_~~Kelly-087_~~

The doctor looked her over critically, frowning. "Unfortunately, this was a foreseeable consequence of the growth hormones," he told the surly girl. At twelve, Kelly-087 had the body of a mid-teens athlete, but was still growing into it.

Kelly shook her head stubbornly. "I can't be bouncing around the track, doctor," she told the man. "Cut the hormones off or do something, but no one takes a jiggly soldier seriously."

Kelly had swollen up with the HGH – Human Growth Hormones – noticeably, gaining twelve pounds that could not be attributed to muscle or physical growth. Certain parts of her body – her thighs and upper torso especially – had been the most heavily affected, causing her to slow down considerably as she tried to readjust with a constantly-changing body.

"We'll add a diuretic," the doctor promised, motioning for her to dress. "That should help shed the water weight. Remember, your body is adjusting within the span of months what _should_ take years. Expect to get a little uncomfortable."

Kelly nodded and dressed quickly. Her shoulders and hips were filling out, she noted, even more so than yesterday's morning examination had shown. She reached for her pants, folded neatly on the table, and missed, overcompensating for her longer limbs and grabbing the air next to them. Blushing slightly – the doctor mutely handed them to her – the child got dressed and left the room quickly, eager to rejoin her teammates.

She was, despite the additional concern, one of the first out of the doctors' offices. They took it in rotation to visit daily, since their progress needed to be documented and followed carefully, so there were only fifteen other children there with her. Kelly waited in the lobby for her group. They were to stay together, Mendez had told them, so she would slow down for them, though what she _wanted_ to do was get out on the track and try to run some of the extra weight off, even if the doctors had all said it wasn't fat but water, and running wouldn't help.

"Kelly." Fred and John walked towards her from their separate rooms, tugging their shirts on over their heads. Kelly was jealous for a moment – they could still walk around without shirts on, but now she and the other girls had to spend an extra breath every morning pulling on skin-tight bras.

"What'd the doctor say?" John asked, noting the displeasure in her expression.

"He's giving me a diuretic," she replied, huffing. "It's 'water weight.' A side effect of the HGH."

Fred nodded, smiling in sympathy. "At least your voice isn't cracking constantly." His own voice cracked as he said it, finishing on a high note, and both Kelly and John chuckled at the boy's expense.

"Let's go running," Kelly suggested – almost begged – as more children joined them.

John shook his head thoughtfully. "We ran laps this morning," he said. "The Chief wants us to work on unit cohesion. We have orders to report to the ropes course."

"Oh, goody, _more_ coordination tests," Will muttered, grinning. He had grown like a weed, easily making him the tallest among the boys, though most of the girls still topped him. Unfortunately, with all the energy his body spent on growing _up_, it didn't leave much for growing muscles, so he was a gangly-looking stick boy.

John led them to the ropes course. Kelly tried to ignore the up-down motions from the breasts on her chest. She'd compare again with Linda and Grace tonight.

_~~Jerome-092~~_

"I really, truly, _deeply_ hate this exercise," Jerome muttered. Victor, next to him, laughed with agreement. They were hanging by their legs, ropes around their ankles, over a fifteen-foot-deep pool of water. Chief Mendez had left them there after capturing them from their watch.

"John will find us," Victor said courageously. "And they'll get us down from here."

"Before or after my head implodes?" Jerome examined the bindings. They were kid-proof, definitely; even if the trainers hadn't taken the extra precaution of giving both a mild paralyzing agent, the "ropes" tying him were actually FlexiCable, which was used to hold light aerial vehicles together.

Sure enough, just as dawn started peaking, the rest of the kids started waking – and noted that their two brothers were missing. Jerome could see their barracks from his spot and saw a team of five kids – including Kelly – jump out of the barracks' back window to do some scouting. Another team probably left by the other window in the boys' shower room, but that was on the side not facing him, so Jerome couldn't say for certain.

The original five-man team found the pair, spotting them from a few yards off. They didn't close, however – Chief Mendez _always_ had a trick up his sleeve for training sessions like this.

"Traps?" Fred signed.

Jerome managed to shake his head slightly; the paralytic agent was wearing off slightly. He hadn't _seen_ any, at least. Fred nodded.

There hadn't yet been any sign of any of the trainers, which was odd since they usually _delighted_ in storming the barracks to wake the children – which resulted in the keeping of watches – and usually with a nasty surprise. One time, it had been tear gas – another, flash bombs.

The rest of the kids were moving out already. They treated the compound like an enemy one – which meant they stormed all of the buildings and trussed up anyone they found. The cooks, unaware of what the trainers had done, were pulled kicking from the kitchen, which two of the kids secured. Chief Mendez and his trainers, however, were all gone.

Finally, about fifteen kids gathered in a one-hundred-meter-wide circle around the pair of trapped teammates. The rest were securing buildings, vehicles, and the perimeter.

Starting farthest from the pool over which Jerome and Victor were hung, their rescuers started throwing fairly large rocks randomly, hoping to set off whatever trap was set – likely mines. They didn't set anything off, however, and a sweep by one of the vehicles' anti-mine radars found nothing, either.

Kelly, of course, volunteered to run through the "dead zone" and release Victor and Jerome. After a moment of thought, John agreed.

She dashed through but didn't seem to trigger anything; she arrived at the base of the pole holding her brothers up without incident. She climbed up it and cut the pair loose; they landed in the deep pool and quickly surfaced, sputtering.

"Alright, what's the game?" John asked everyone an hour later, when they had thoroughly re-scoured the camp and found nothing in the way of directions. Jerome and Victor, after finally working through the pins and needles in their legs, gave a description of their capture.

Chief Mendez had approached them and next thing they knew, they had felt the stings of darts in their necks and the Chief had clapped big hands over their mouths before they could yell a warning to their sleeping siblings.

"All the trainers and the Chief are gone," Kelly reported. "The cooks and several "support staff" were left – apparently they have no knowledge of where everyone is, only that they all bugged out sometime before dawn but after midnight."

"Well, they know where we are. So, let's pack some bags and head out." John assigned teams to get supplies together and then split the remaining kids into different parties. They would go into the woods in several different ways – three teams would take Warthogs, another two would take the heavier truck-like Cobras, and the rest would go by foot. By splitting up, they hoped to have a better chance of arriving at the rendezvous, which was a place known to everyone but not to the Chief, they thought.

_~~Grace-093~~_

"Is it really that important?" Kelly's voice had never grated on Grace's nerves like that. Everyone was more temperamental with all of the hormones the doctors were giving them – and Grace _had_ started what the doctors called "the curse" last night – but there was no reason for her to be so mad at her pseudo-sister. But she was.

"Yes," Grace snapped, peering at her eyes and hair in the mirror. "You dyed your hair. Why can't I?"

"But just because you don't like brown hair with brown eyes?" There was a certain smugness to Kelly's tone that made Grace want to claw her eyes out. She checked her emotions. Chief Mendez had said that the accelerated puberty would make them all aggressive, ill-tempered, and petty. She didn't want to be petty. She wasn't petty. But she didn't like brown hair and brown eyes. It was boring.

"What about black hair?" Serin suggested from where she was field-stripping her pistol on the floor. "It's easier to dye something darker than lighter, and then when your roots grow out again tomorrow, it won't be so obvious."

"Thanks, Serin." Grace knew the other girl understood, or at least was _trying_ to be helpful.

"Why do you care anyway? It's just hair." Kelly scoffed.

"You _dye_ yours," Grace replied.

"Well, yeah, I like it blue. Who else has blue hair here? I stand out." The pompous girl puffed herself up, grinning. "Not like I need it, though. I _am_ the fastest here."

Grace huffed. "Shut up," she snarled. Kelly had beaten her in a footrace this morning, again, and what _really_ made Grace mad was that it had been clear the other girl had hardly been trying.

No one could beat Grace when it came to explosives, but there were few opportunities for her talent to show itself – they rarely got to use _real_ explosives for now. The other kids were mostly brute-force types, who thought overrunning an enemy compound meant _literally_ stomping it into the ground. Grace, though, knew the value that stealth operations had, and knew that sneaking into a base and setting up the charges before retreating and then blowing everything to Hell from a safe distance was much more satisfying – and harder to do, which made it an excellent challenge.

_~~Victor-101~~_

"The females are receiving the same discussion in the next room," Déjà told the boys as they filed into the classroom. "You have been administered the Human Growth Hormone for three months now, and have reached the point where you bodies are beginning to go through puberty at an accelerated rate. As such, you will experience feelings, towards your fellow soldiers, that may be difficult to control or explain. It is our wish – Dr. Halsey's and Chief Mendez's – that this day's classes will give you an explanation and reason to avoid acting on those impulses."

Déjà called up the main holoprojector at the front of the class and showed a diagram of the human genitals. Everyone knew which was male and female – it was fairly obvious – but seeing the inner workings was somewhat new, and there were a few snickers out of embarrassment and pure amusement.

The teacher AI moved on through the physical portion to the emotional, describing the feelings of lust as impersonally as though she was describing how nanotechnology had been developed in the twenty-first century.

Victor stared at the diagram with equal parts revulsion and fascination. "So, _this_ is why soldiers aren't allowed to fraternize?" he asked Déjà. "Because the females will get pregnant?"

"In our time and age," Déjà answered with a slight smile, "there are myriad ways a woman can prevent pregnancy in case of sexual contact. If there is a mistake, or an accident, or in the case of rape or incest, a woman can also pursue abortion."

The screen changed to a timeline, showing the progression of both a typical female body and the thing growing inside her – a fetus, Déjà said it was called. "From conception, a fetus takes approximately nine months to develop. Many births are early, however, and we can usually keep those that are up to seven months early alive without the need for constant external care after one to two years of age.

"With our technology today, we _could_ theoretically grow humans from egg and sperm in mechanical uteruses, but for mostly moral reasons, there are laws in place to restrict such uses. The _only_ licit reasons for using mechanical births is if the female in question would be placed in mortal danger by becoming pregnant herself or if a pair of males wish to produce genetic children together.

"Now, in order to drive home just how this process works, we will watch a short video of a live birth." Déjà called up the appropriate clip. "While you will never experience this yourself, as genetic males – unless you should choose, upon reaching adulthood, to go through transgender operations – it is important for you to understand the consequences of your actions, if you choose to have sexual relations with a woman."

All of the boys glanced between themselves with disgust. None of _them_ wanted that kind of relationship. Their fellow soldiers were just that – comrades. Victor couldn't see himself doing anything like what Déjà had showed them with any of the females. Even if _they_ wanted to, the whole process was just… silly. But, he _had_ seen the way the girls were starting to act, giggling and glancing at the boys out of the corners of their eyes, paying more attention to their personal hygiene. Never during training, of course, but it was obvious in the mess hall. Even Kelly was getting a little too touchy-feely for Victor's comfort.

The video confirmed everyone's feelings, and even turned a few of the battle-hardened kids green. "I'll die for any of you," William declared loudly when it was over, "but I'll be damned if I get _pregnant_."

"Well, then, it is fortunate you are biologically male," Déjà said humorously.

Victor put his hand up. "Why are we getting this discussion now?" he asked. "I don't know about you guys, but I haven't wanted to… do any of that." He glared at the picture still on the screen of a bloody baby, screaming its lungs out, where Déjà had paused the video feed.

"The females are progressing more rapidly than the males," Déjà answered smoothly. "This is normal – girls generally go through puberty first, and males of the same age go through it two or three years later. Because we have been administering HGH, along with other hormones, you are all going through it at the same time, which is why your voices are cracking and other physical changes are becoming apparent. Sexuality is one of those things that is generally developed during this time, though there are exceptions."

"How will this help us be better soldiers?" John asked, a frown on his ruggedly stubbled face.

"It will not help you win a battle," the AI answered. "We do not use rape as a weapon of war or torture – there are _severe_ consequences for any soldiers who engage in such barbarism. But there will be times, even on the battlefield, in which these urges may come up. Most teenagers control and appease their urges through the use of a technique called masturbation…"

Victor, over the next hour, decided quite simply that he would not fall prey to such base instincts. Most of the other boys seemed to come to same conclusion, especially after Déjà showed them pictures of the different types of sexually-transmitted diseases that hadn't yet been eradicated or were untreatable.

When the two groups, separated by gender, met again for lunch, all of the girls had calmed down their recent "whisper-and-glance-and-giggle" routine and seemed much more in control of themselves. Kelly made it well known to anyone within earshot that sex and love was for _civilians_ and they were soldiers. Victor, and most everyone else, he noted, agreed with her. Soldiers like they were, despite what Déjà had said, had no room in their lives for love lives.

"If I never see another live birth, I'll be happy," Alice groaned, dropping into a seat next to Victor. He grinned slightly in agreement, but she took exception and socked him – hard.

"Ow!" he protested. "I was agreeing with you."

"Shut up."

"Yes, ma'am." Victor dug into his food. "What's on our list for this afternoon?" he asked John, turning to his left and calling down the table. John, who had been in the middle of a quiet conversation with Fred and Carris, turned to answer.

"Chief Mendez wants us to run the obstacle course again," he answered neutrally. Victor groaned – he had fallen off several times yesterday. "Until _everyone_ can make it through without falling off."

"Right-O, mini Chief." William snickered as John glared half-heartedly at his brother. It was a common nickname for the boy, whose admiration of the Chief was well-known. It wasn't brownnosing, more like the way a son looks up to his father, but everyone teased him about it relentlessly as though they didn't have the same feelings towards the hard older man.

_~~Frederic-104~~_

"Fred. Fred. Fred. Wake up. Fred." Fred growled as Kelly poked him relentlessly.

"I'll skin you," he muttered in as threatening a way as possible.

"You'd have to wake up first," Kelly reminded him. "Come on, John wants everyone up. Kurt's got a bad feeling."

_That_ woke Fred right up. Kurt's "bad feelings" had been responsible for his team's wins more times than anyone could count.

The cave they had chosen as HQ was three kilometers from the trainers' base of operations, which was dug into the side of a mountain. It was closer than usual for them to camp, but John had figured the trainers would _expect_ the kids to play by the books and be at least five kilometers away, so he had sent out three parties to make a couple caves look lived-in before setting up a permanent base closer in.

Fred had been catching some shut-eye after last night's patrol, which he had led. He sat up and waved Kelly off, who was still hovering to make sure he actually woke up fully.

John brought over two bowls of stew and handed one to Fred, along with a spoon. "Kurt's got a bad feeling, and our morning patrol reports a decided _lack_ of activity in the enemy base. We think they're going to head out sometime this morning."

"What time is it?"

"One hour until sunrise. We'll move out at dawn."

"Got it. Where do you want me?"

"You'll take twenty to the east. Serin will take ten others to the west. Kelly's going to lead twenty to the north, and I'll circle around to the base's south with the rest, except Alice, Malcolm, and Anton, who will stay here on guard, and a set of ten will head southwest to draw off some of the trainers."

"Got it. And the actual plan is to divide and conquer?"

"Something like that," John answered with a smirk. "We're going to dig in underneath them."

"They've got to have vibration sensors," Fred protested.

"Which I've been dismantling for the past two hours," Josh said with a smug grin, tapping John on the shoulder. "All that I could find are dead, and they don't even know it."

"Where did you get this idea?"

"Honestly?" John grinned. "One of Déjà's old movies. Dig in under the enemy, pop out like those old gopher animals, take everyone by surprise."

"So, just dig towards the barracks?"

"Your team is targeting the eastern buildings. One of them is definitely a vehicle bay – see if you can commandeer at least a couple Warthogs. If not, destroy them. Josh will be going with you."

"Sounds good," Fred answered, scooping up his stew. It was really hot but tasty. "Who made the soup?"

"Alice," John answered, grinning.

"She does have that gift."

"I heard that!" Alice yelled from across the cave.

"It was a compliment," Fred assured her quickly, holding up the soup bowl in explanation.

"Oh, well, then, thank you." She grinned and turned back to stripping a small sapling of its branches.

"We've got a few more shovels to make," John explained when Fred raised an eyebrow in question. "We figured everyone should have at least two, in case one – or more – break."

"Sounds like a good plan," Fred answered. "What's your team doing?"

John smirked. "I've got Grace. We're going to plant some charges around, leave a few tokens of our… respect." The kids within earshot sniggered. "Serin and Kelly have their own missions."

"Sounds like fun. And our target?"

"He's Kelly's," John answered. They had been given a specific set of orders from Chief Mendez: capture the target, a supposed Innie leader on an Innie base of operations, and return him to the main compound without serious injury for processing. They had just under twenty-four hours remaining in the operation.

"Well, time to get moving," John said after a few moments of companionable silence. "Let's move, everyone."

Fred stood and gathered his team, including Josh, and their shovels. He led them from the cave, checking in with the outer patrols before moving on to their target.

_~~Adrianna-111~~_

"No, what I'm saying is: we don't know everything about this mission," Adrianna said, remaining calm. John just _wasn't_ seeing that.

"We've been given an objective," John answered. "We will see the mission through as per our usual. Chief Mendez would never give us a bad order."

"Yes, he would, if _he_ was given a bad order."

John rubbed a hand through his hair, shaking his head slightly. "We obey the chain of command. That's what a soldier does."

"Tell that to our 'dead' friends," the girl snapped. She knew the immediate change of mood was a side-effect of puberty and that John wouldn't hold it against her, though his own mood swings were starting to affect his leadership, she felt.

He partially blamed himself for the team of twelve who had been ambushed and "killed" by stun rounds an hour ago. John always did. But many of them had been Adrianna's friends. She'd found their "bodies" – they'd been paralyzed with an injection to keep them out of the fight and left scattered by the trainers.

None of the others ever thought about questioning their orders. Capturing fake Innie leaders was getting old. The Chief _always_ threw a twist in, especially when a mission seemed straight forward. It was his way. But no one else seemed to be bothered that, aside from the team that had been ambushed, the op was going almost textbook-perfect.

"Maybe _that's_ the catch," she murmured thoughtfully to herself. John raised an eyebrow. "Maybe the catch is that there _is_ no catch," she explained. "Maybe this is supposed to be a cut-and-dry milk run for us."

It turned out not to be true. Adrianna felt the impact of the stun round from the hidden chain guns that had been disguised – rather well – in the buildings. They hadn't been spotted by the scouting teams, which meant John had opted for a straight run through the base.

The trainers had, of course, started mowing them down, prompting those who had held back – even John didn't trust the apparent milk run – to retreat, but Adrianna had been on the front lines and went down first.

Her body slowly went numb as she lay in the dirt. A few more stun rounds impacted on her; she heard someone cursing softly beside her and rolled her head over to look. William was down next to her, awkwardly lying on the ground in a _very_ uncomfortable position, and it looked like he'd be stuck that way until the exercise was over. Adrianna was suddenly grateful that she'd twisted in her fall, landing her rather comfortably with her face in the dirt, guarding it from further fire.

_I'm going to kick John's ass for this_, she thought to herself.

_~~John-117~~_

"Alright, um… Favorite color?" Kelly asked loudly to the assembled group of kids.

"Green," John answered immediately. He was on her right; he went first in answering.

"What _kind_ of green?"

"A… gentle green. Like soft grass that's been cut recently."

"That's just poetic," Grace giggled from nearby. "I'll have to find 'gentle green' paint for something of yours."

"Shut up," John snapped teasingly. "Who's next?"

"Me. My favorite color is, hmmm, yellow. But not an in-your-face yellow, more a subtle, muted color, you know?" Everyone hummed in agreement with Adrianna's statement.

"Mine's red," Linda answered.

"Like, what, blood?" Victor asked from where he was letting Alice comb twigs from his short hair.

"Nah, more like… A deeper, richer red, yanno? Blood's got a watery red."

"Well, it is a liquid," Joseph said grumpily. "Mine's black. Like black. Next."

"Geez, grump," Keiichi muttered, grinning nonetheless. "I like green, but I like the dark green like when you get a grass stain on your green pants."

Everyone answered in their turn. It was a common game for them; it helped center everyone after a tough day. No one had been in a good mood this evening, but the outing was starting to change that, at least for most of everyone. Joseph, and a few of his close friends, was resisting the general good-will now within the group. It was a problem John saw getting worse every day – Joseph tended to ostracize himself from the group, putting very little effort into understanding his siblings.

It was a puzzle John had yet to put together. He was worried for his brother – Joseph fell more and more into a dangerous silence that told John he was retreating from his fellow soldiers. They needed each other to stand against the trainers, and later, the Insurrectionists. Their bond was part of the reason why they would be among the best soldiers – Dr. Halsey had told him so. And if John was going to lead a team, he needed everyone, including Joseph, to be 100% there with him.

"Joseph," he called during a lull in the conversation. "Come walk with me."

Kelly glanced at John with a raised brow. He knew her thoughts on the matter; _she_ believed Joseph would simply hold everyone else back. But John felt differently. Even if he didn't particularly like Joseph, the boy was his brother. And he had to know everyone under his command if he was going to lead them.

However, with a sarcastic eye-roll, Joseph levered himself to his feet and followed the slightly-taller boy away from the group. They walked into the darkness with confidence – they knew the forest around here like it was a second home, which it kind of was.

On their silent walk, John tried to think about what Chief Mendez would say to a soldier of his in this situation. Joseph was an excellent soldier – very little creativity with his orders, but he'd follow them or die trying. He took orders well, never questioned them, unlike _some_ people. But there was something in the way he fought, how he acted around his siblings, that just didn't click with anyone else.

His closest friends were Daisy and a few others who seemed to cling to their pasts. John saw no need for it – he hardly remembered his family, but he had a new one, one which understood him. And Dr. Halsey was giving him a purpose – he was going to be the future of the UNSC, a soldier, protecting Earth and the colonies from terrorist Insurrectionists.

But this didn't seem like enough for Joseph, John guessed. He didn't know why his brother was so… He didn't even have the skills to describe it. Most of John's siblings had the same basic needs, emotions, and requests when it came to interacting with the others. But Joseph, and to a lesser extent, Daisy and a couple others, had different needs, needs he didn't see himself fulfilling as their leader.

"What do you want, John?" Joseph asked as they stopped by a fallen log and sat down.

"I'd like to know what is going on with you," John answered. He didn't know how else to put it, but they were a blunt bunch anyway.

Joseph snorted. "Nothing's 'going on' with me," he insisted. "I just don't want to get all cuddly-feely, alright?"

John frowned slightly. "You mean, you don't want to play 20 Questions anymore?"

"No, it's not just that." Joseph sounded frustrated. "Look, you all love each other and shit and it's great. I'm happy for you, really. But I can't – I _won't_ – forget my family like so many of you. You're not my family, and I won't act like it. I'll take your orders, John, and I'll do my best to kill those Innies and anyone else Chief says needs it, but I don't want to get all fuzzy with you."

"Sharing who we are with each other is not 'getting fuzzy,'" John pointed out. "Understanding your siblings-" Joseph sneered, and John changed his wording – "_fellow soldiers_ can only make for better team cohesion. Chief Mendez, Dr. Halsey, and everyone else here – they're all training us to be the very best soldiers the UNSC, humanity, has ever produced. Part of our power will come from being able to work more seamlessly than any Innie team. To do that, we all need to know each other better than we know ourselves."

"I know you, John," Joseph said. "I could tell you things about yourself you don't like to remember."

John nodded slightly. "So can anyone in this outfit. But most of us don't know _you_ as well as you do us. Even for one of us, you're closed. Linda's a loner, and that makes her a great sniper, but she still knows we will be, and what we'll be doing, when we charge a compound and she's acting as sniper. But she can't predict you. That makes you dangerous – to her, to us, to the mission. To everyone but the enemy."

"It's not been a problem yet."

"No, not yet. But it will be. How can I depend on a man I don't know?" John winced internally – that wasn't what he'd meant, but it got the message across.

"You know me, John. Jesus. I'm sullen, angry, and just want to be left along. If I'm not left alone, I'll get unhappy. Maybe I'm more of a loner than Linda."

John held his hands up slightly, shaking his head. "What makes it so difficult to just talk to us?"

"I don't wanna talk to you."

"Alright, Joseph, have it your way. We don't need drama in the team. If you won't participate in bonding activities, can you at least try not to ruin it for everyone else?" John told himself to calm down, knowing the hackles-raised approach would not help in this situation, as much as he wanted to respond that way.

"Sure, John, sorry if my bad attitude is just making a mess out of your stargazing party." Joseph stomped off back towards the main compound; Daisy would probably go with him.

John shook his head slightly. The boy would be a problem in the future, he knew – John didn't know how the man might react, if his feelings as a boy were so strong. But he also didn't know how to solve it now, and he had a bad feeling it would come back to bite all of them.

_~~Joseph-122~~_

The memories were fading more each day. He couldn't remember her eyes anymore, what color they were. He knew they lit up when she was happy, like when he brought her flowers or a pretty thing he'd made in school.

But that was before they'd taken him. Before Dr. Halsey had told him that he'd never go back to his family, that he'd never see them again. He'd cried. Others had, too, but he'd cried more often since then. While everyone else was concentrating mostly on training – and he did so, too – he also thought about the family he'd left behind.

Careful questioning had let Joseph ascertain that no one else remembered much about their family, nor did they really care. They had a new family. He'd made friends, but no one came close to replacing the two sisters he'd left behind. Dr. Halsey was _no_ replacement for his kind, loving mother – he still remembered the way she smelled when she picked him up and hugged him tightly.

Now, lying in his bunk, Joseph frowned lightly as he felt the memories fading. The training session today had been relatively easy, leaving him a few minutes before he fell asleep to recall his family's images, their scents, their laughter, their tears. But it was no longer easy – he had to dig, and even then, his best efforts produced faded play-backs as though he was watching a badly-made 2D video. He clung to the memories and refused to let them fade any more.

_~~Alice-130~~_

"Snug, dammit," Alice snarled as Victor pulled her harness sloppily. "I'm not gonna be fallin' out of this for _you_, ya bastard." Victor just smirked and braced his foot against his sister's stomach and tugging on the straps until there was no more give.

"Alright, asshole, you're good to go." Victor smacked Alice on the rear and moved onto the next kid. Alice grinned – no one else understood the rough-and-tumble friendship she and Victor shared, but they were being _nice_ to each other today. She shook herself to test her gear.

"Today, you're going to drop out of a moving Pelican," the Chief had told them, rather calmly for the big man. "Those of you who survive will be moving on. Those who don't, will do it again." It was a running joke. Nothing had killed the kids yet, at least to the point a doctor on scene couldn't revive them, but they'd come close a few times, and this was gearing up to be another big trial.

Alice was near the door and would be one of the first ones out. She wasn't _afraid_ of heights, but she definitely didn't like them. Kelly and Linda, though, were jostling for first, but John quickly parted them and took first himself, leaving Kelly for second and Linda for third. Alice lined up around the fifth position just as the Pelican's hatch opened. The howling wind was annoying but Alice grinned as the familiar adrenaline rush pumped through her veins.

"We rendezvous back at the camp," John ordered calmly. "Land in pairs and stick with your partner."

It was standard procedure and everyone simply nodded. Victor came to take sixth place behind Alice; they would try to land closely together, if possible.

"Go," the pilot ordered over the Pelican's PA system.

John fell out of the plane without noticeable hesitation. They'd all grown a lot – physically, mentally, emotionally – since the first time the Chief had told them to jump out of a Pelican. He was immediately out of sight and Kelly followed him, sticking close to her partner.

It was Alice's turn quickly; she let the necessary seconds pass to allow the fourth person out – Lily – the time to get away from the craft and then jump, flicking her heels with a giggle as gravity dragged her down immediately.

Victor was right beside her within seconds, and they angled to the west, away from the plane. The next team would go south.

Alice could see several other Pelicans dropping her siblings. They all fell quickly; the ground was coming up fast. Alice deployed her chute and it jerked her into an "upright" position. Victor did the same. They stayed fairly far from each other to keep from fouling their parachutes.

The pair landed easily and smoothly in a small clearing. Their descent hadn't been troubled by any sort of problem, but both kids were very alert as they untangled themselves and then headed back towards the camp.

They came across a couple straggling teams, including Adrianna and Keiichi. Keiichi was limping pretty badly and Adrianna was trying to help him over the overgrown game trails. Alice slung Keiichi's left arm over her should and Victor scouted ahead while the two girls helped the fourth member of the newly-augmented team back to camp.

_~~Carris-137~~_

"As part of your new curriculum, Dr. Halsey has ordered that everyone here learn to play an instrument." Déjà's announcement caused a slight stirring among the seventy-five students. They never paused in their munching on crackers, their mid-day snack, but there was a wary look in all of them. Déjà's avatar smiled.

"We will begin by learning about the various classes of hand-held instruments and then each of you will choose – yes, choose, not 'be assigned' – an instrument and spend the rest of the period learning simple exercises on it."

They covered woodwinds first and Carris immediately fell in love with an old instrument, hardly used anymore, called a bass clarinet. Its cousin the clarinet was too reedy-sounding, too high-pitched, for her to enjoy, but she liked the way the bass clarinet could be as loud or quiet as anyone wanted it to be. The drums were just annoying, and she disliked the brass instruments' noise.

Once they picked out instruments, Déjà set the printers to making one for each student. Carris was one of the last to get hers, but she grinned when she finally laid her hands on the simulated wood and steel buttons. "Woodwinds will report to Classroom 3C," Déjà instructed. Carris found herself in the largest group, therefore, as they filed into their assigned classroom.

The instrument was beautiful and produced an amazing sound. They learned first how to breathe, which closely resembled the breathing exercises everyone learned while practicing being snipers. Linda was best at it, and could hold her breath longer than anyone else. But her tiny flute required large lungs, Déjà said, so it was for the best.

"We will first learn the different keys and notes you can play," Déjà ordered.

Carris listened intently, excited to be learning _something_ other than war games, history, science, math, and everything else Déjà had taught them so far. It was different and lots of fun, and everyone looked like a fool at one point or another.

Carris simply played her notes on the bass clarinet with no thought for making it sound good for a while. Then, when she had the tune, she played a simple marching tune like the one they chanted while running. It took a few – dozen – tries to get it correct, but once the others noticed what she was doing, they all pitched in and by the end of the period, had written their _own_ marching tune.

"I will share this with Dr. Halsey," Déjà said with a chuckle when they managed to finally play through the ten verses without making a mistake.

Carris grinned. It would be fun to continue playing, if they were allowed to – she raised her hand to ask.

"Yes, trainee 137?"

"Will we continue with this training?" she asked.

Déjà smiled. "You will be receiving music lessons at least once every three days, for a period of no less than three standard hours, in order to develop certain traits that we find will be conducive to your future as soldiers in the UNSC."

"How's playin' gonna help us kill Innies?" William asked, tilting his head. "I don't know if I could play a lullaby on this thing that'd put guards to sleep before they'd question what a kid with a clarinet is doing in their super-secure base."

"It will develop, for one thing, more creativity. As you have already seen, music encourages collaborative works as well as several other desirable traits. It is our hope that your knowledge of music, while not _directly_ necessary for most missions, will nonetheless avail you in your future."

"And it's fun," William pointed out.

"Yes," Déjà agreed. "It is fun, and 'fun' is an integral part of every person's childhood."

Carris almost snickered at that. The Chief's idea of fun included running them around a 'playground' of obstacle courses, gym equipment, and training tracks at full speed all day. It was enjoyable, to a point, and she loved the promised outcome, but _this_ was pure fun. Déjà herself had said there was no ulterior motive to learning how to play music. This was just pure, childish fun.

_~~Cal-141~~_

"What do you think love is?"

Cal turned to look at Linda in surprise. The young woman hadn't spoken much so far this evening – the girls were enjoying a night away from the boys. Kelly had been doing most of the speaking as they traded snippets of information, thing they'd noticed recently, gossip, speculation about the next day's training event… It was a time-honored tradition.

Everyone turned to look at Linda with curious looks on their faces.

"Well," she explained, still gazing at the stars and meeting no one's glance, "it's something that seems very important to the trainers. And in some of those old movies we watch, romance is a big part of the plot."

"It's trust," Kelly said after a moment, sure of herself.

Cal, however, wasn't quite sure. She thought about all the movies in which they had seen romance. Love seemed to be mostly about lust; having sex seemed to be the ultimate goal between partners of any orientation. There was a bond of friendship there, and trust was a big part of it, but she didn't know if the apparently wishy-washy relationship trainers discussed when they thought they weren't overheard was really all about _trusting_ someone.

"I love all of you," Cal said quietly. "I trust you with my life, with my teammate's lives. But I think the love you're talking about is different. Like, more like lust. Like what Henderson was saying to Mackleroy about his new girlfriend. He claims to love her, but he's just in it for the sex, and her companionship. And she seems to be, too."

"Sex is disgusting." This sentiment, voiced by Adrianna, was shared throughout the group.

"Can we not discuss this?" Kelly asked, snorting. "It's stupid."

"What _do_ you want to talk about?" Cal asked.

"I dunno. Let's just head back. It's no fun if the boys aren't here to tease."

Though Cal privately disagreed – looking up at the stars and simply _thinking_ was plenty fun for her – she got up when everyone else did and they trooped over to where the boys had set up camp at the base of a short cliff, tucked back into a cave.

"Hey, pookie!" Victor called when Cal came into the cave. In a very well-done imitation of a dancing dip, he grabbed her around the waist and bent her backwards gently, rotating so that he was holding her back to keep them both from falling over.

"Quit manhandling my girl!" Alice snapped, grabbing Cal with one arm and pushing Victor aside. "Mine!"

Cal giggled. Victor and Alice enjoyed their spats, and usually involved whoever was closest – which, tonight, seemed to be her. She extracted herself from Alice's grip and avoided Victor's grab to finally reach the fire's circle of warmth, rubbing her hands together against the late autumn chill.

"You're all dorks," William declared from across the cave. "Everyone knows Cal's only got eyes for me, right, darlin'?" He affected an odd drawl reminiscent of a gun-slinging American Westerner from the early nineteenth and twentieth centuries.

"Why is it my turn to be picked on?" Cal groaned. Nonetheless, she did sit next to Will, and he slung his arm over her shoulder, once her hands were unfrozen. They were good friends – and Will's jokes made everyone laugh, even if they were in bad taste occasionally.

"Remember what Chief Mendez said about fraternizing," John reminded everyone.

"Stick in the mud," Will muttered so that only Cal could hear. She snickered in agreement – John was being uptight. It was natural to joke around and play about being in love. Besides, no one took it seriously. Cal certainly didn't, anyway, even when the apparent source of a fake love triangle.

"Y'all are so sweet I'm gonna puke," Jerome drawled from his spot across the fire from Cal and Will. "Now, come on, kissy kissy."

"Bite me," Cal laughed, throwing a nearby rock at her brother's head.

"Oooo, is that an invitation?" Will asked, baring his teeth.

"You're sick in the head."

"Kisses fix everything!" Cal rolled her eyes at Will's puppy-dog look.

"No, they get you a hearing with the Chief." Cal turned to roll her eyes _very_ clearly at John, who was still being a stick in the mud.

"What's up your ass, mini-Chief?" Joseph asked before anyone else could.

"Nothin'," he muttered, looking back into the fire. "We should head back to the base. It'll be an early morning."

"It always is," Cal told him.

"The Chief's been quiet a few days," John clarified. "I think we might be seeing something new tomorrow. He rarely has more than a couple days between big lessons."

"_Or_ he realizes we needed a kind of break," Alice said calmly, though she was sitting on Victor's head to keep him from fussing while Kelly and Grace, apparently on her side, held the rest of him down. "We've been running on fairly low batteries recently."

"And staying out late isn't going to help," John pointed out.

"Let's head out. _Mommy_ wants us to get to bed." Joseph's tone wasn't exactly joking, but Will – and Cal, with a nudge from her brother – took it that way.

"Will you tuck me in?" Will asked John innocently. John flipped him off and headed out; Alice let Victor up and he ran ahead to catch up to his brother – and keep away from the three girls. Cal and Will stood simultaneously.

"Will _you_ tuck me in?" Will asked Cal, batting his eyelashes.

"Right," Cal answered with a snort.

"Yay."

The walk back was quiet; they slipped through the security without really thinking about it anymore, ran into their barracks, and crawled into their bunks. Cal, after being so pestered by Will, finally agreed to tuck the blankets in around Will's body and then patted his head good night. She climbed into her bunk after leaving the male's wing and settled into place quickly, eager to rest after a long day.


	3. What is War? (T)

**Title: **What is War?**  
Date: **8/27/2013**  
Summary: **Knocked about the head a little harder than he should have been, John finds himself remembering a long-forgotten lesson, one day in Déjà's classroom… **  
Rating:** T for violence**  
Genre: **Angst, General**  
Main Characters: **John-117, Déjà

There was a black spot in the Chief's vision. He could barely hear the retort of the enemy's plasma rifle even though he increased the internal volume in his helmet to maximum.

"Chief!" Kelly yelled over the radio – _that_ he managed to hear.

He wanted to tell her to concentrate on the battle around them. The Elite that had brained him was down, he thought – but if it wasn't, it was definitely behind their lines by now. He'd been covering a particularly large opening in the building's walls that hadn't been on the original blueprints. The sides of the hole were still crumbling.

Suddenly, a different voice whispered quietly in the back of the Chief's head, one he hadn't heard for years. It was soft and reminded him of math lessons, history speeches, and gold fish-shaped crackers.

_"What is war, John?" Déjà asked, appearing on the boy's desk's holotank. _

_"Conflict," John answered immediately. _

_Déjà nodded, waiting for more. John frowned slightly; she was testing him. The rest of the class was silent. "An armed conflict between two large entities fielding military personnel," he finally replied. _

_"Almost." Déjà went back to the main holotank. "War is much more than mere conflict. If we try to simplify it – or, gods forbid, romanticize it – we will never understand it. War is a constant to humanity. There has hardly been a time in recorded history in which there was not at _least_ one war being fought, even when we were all confined to a single planet. To understand war – and, most importantly, both the necessity and tragedy it is to humanity – we need first to comprehend its nature."_

_Kelly raised her hand. "Why's that important?" she asked, huffing. "I don't need to know why we go to war. Just point me at the enemy and I'll shoot 'em, no questions asked."_

_Déjà shook her heads. "You are being groomed to be loyal, obedient soldiers, yes, but you should _always_ ask questions." She glanced at John, Fred, Serina, and a few others who had made note of themselves as leaders. "Initiative is rewarded within the UNSC, to a point, and initiative comes from asking – and then answering – questions of yourself, your orders, and your superior officers."_

_The AI called up a long list of the most significant wars in humanity's recent history, starting with the last World War and coming up through the Insurrectionist actions. _

_"Let me rephrase my original question. What is the object – the purpose – of war?"_

_"Right now, it's to quell Innies," Fred answered. _

_Déjà nodded. "More general, trainee."_

_"To… show strength?"_

_"Almost. What do we _do_ in war to the losers?"_

_"Make them do something we want them to!" Kelly announced after a moment of thoughtful silence. _

_The teacher nodded. "The object of war is to impose our will on our opponent. Whether that be making them give up land they consider theirs or paying large amounts of money and resources to the victor, the main object in war is to make someone do what we want them to do, usually with violent force. But it is never so simple."_

"Bloody hell! Chief, get your green ass _up_!"

The voice of the Marine – combined with something _heavy_ landing on his chest – shook the Chief from the foggy memory. Déjà vanished from his peripheral vision – as did the jar of crackers his younger self had been eyeing at the time – and an Elite popped up instead.

Reacting on instinct, the Spartan grabbed the alien's foot, twisted it hard, and rolled the creature to the ground, landing on top of it. The Elite, warbling in surprise at the attack from what had seemed a fallen opponent, struck at the green warrior's helmet, but John blocked the attack with a forearm and used his other fist around the Elite's throat to hold its head down.

He drew his combat knife as the Elite tried to drag his hand away from its throat and thrust it up through the squid-head's jaws. It died quickly.

Standing carefully – the body of another Marine was nearby and he didn't want to step on the man, though his body falling on the Chief's chest had been the catalyst for his waking – he carefully assessed his surroundings. He'd been left behind in the retreat – further in the building, he could hear the reports of rifle fire, Elites roaring, and the curses of several humans. His team would have gone ahead to clear the LZ.

Kelly's voice woke him from a half-daze again. "Got hit hard, Chief?" she asked, a twinge of worry in her otherwise stoic voice.

"Green to go, Red Two," John answered gruffly, policing a rifle and ammunition from the dead Marine at his feet and a pair of plasma grenades from the split-jaw.

_Nothing about war is simple,_ John thought to himself as he jogged out into the now-deserted street. _But at least we knew the Innies. _


	4. Saying Goodbye (Kplus)

Title:Saying Goodbye**  
**Date:9/16/2013**  
**Summary:End of Halo 4. **  
**Rating: K+ **  
**Genre:Angst, General**  
**Main Characters:John-117, Cortana, Commander Lasky

Everything hurt. That was the first thing that John knew. He wasn't sure what _didn't_ hurt. Slowly, he turned his head – nothing but light blue. It reminded him of something. Of some_one_.

The Chief looked up, pushing himself upwards so he was kneeling on one knee, his left arm resting on the other.

"Cortana." He waited for her to reply.

Hearing nothing, John stood, trying to see through the purple-blue walls that had familiar lines of code running all down them. There were hazy shapes hidden behind them, he felt, but he didn't take the time to examine them.

"Cortana, do you read?" John could hear the worry in his own voice as he relaxed his arms to his side. There were no enemies in this strange blue-purple room. Some of the hazy shapes in the lines of code looked like nebulae.

"Cortana, come in." Now John knew his voice was both worried and pleading. She _had_ to be there.

But she didn't reply with anything – not even a sarcastic quip about his being worried for her. His shoulders dipped slightly and he took another quick look around. If she wasn't here, where was he – and where was she?

A faint ringing drew the Spartan's attention behind him. He turned, first his head, and then his body.

There she was. Or… He knew every line of Cortana's code. They'd fought together for years. So this… _being_… was definitely her. But she was now as tall as any female, walking slowly towards him from one of the blue walls. Her dark blue hair was the same as always, cut to just below her chin in a helmet-like shape, a few strands apparently out of place. Her shoulders were broad but strong, the two main dark blue lines running down her chest to join at her navel and continue into her groin.

Her arms turned the same dark blue half-way down the upper portion, as did her legs from the lower half of her thighs down. Lighter blue pulses of light traveled up her body, originating from her feet.

The Chief had seen her avatar thousands of times, but never in this detail – never this large. Except, perhaps, on the first Halo… But now she looked _solid_. He could even detect the movement of her chest where she seemed to be breathing.

"How…?" John was at a loss for words, unsure if he was hallucinating or merely dead.

Cortana's voice was quiet but humorous when she replied. "Oh, _I'm_ the strangest thing you've seen all day?"

That brought back memories of the Forerunner Prometheans – of the Didact and the incredible Compiler, the Librarian and all those scientists who had been torn from physical flesh into intangible data.

There was a faint smile on Cortana's lips, but her eyes remained locked on John's visor, and the grin faded quickly.

"But if we're here…"

"It worked," Cortana interrupted, her voice breathy. "You did it. Just like you always do." She let out a short sigh – but whether of sorrow, contentment, or something else, John couldn't tell.

He looked up and then around – the walls were starting to show the same blips of light running through Cortana.

"So, how do we get out of here?" If this was death, there was no way out – but death wasn't supposed to hurt. And John hurt. Even if seeing a tall Cortana avatar had shocked his mind into forgetting that for a moment, his body was reminding him.

Cortana looked down and John looked back at her quickly. She smiled quickly at her feet and then raised her head again. "I'm not coming with you this time."

"_What_?" Cortana had never not come with him. She'd bully him into bringing her along on dangerous missions before she'd let him leave her behind. Maybe this wasn't Cortana…

She pointed her gaze at the floor. "Most of me is down there." There was a definite catch in Cortana's voice; she looked back at him. "I only held enough back to get you off the ship."

"No. That's not-" _What?_ the Spartan asked himself. He shook his head forcefully, just once. "We go together." _We always have._

Cortana smiled. "It's already done."

John shifted his stance, unconsciously, as though facing a physical threat. He put power behind his words, as though he could make it untrue by believing it hard enough. "I am not leaving you here." He could feel the emotion catch his voice but spoke bravely. Desperately.

"John…" Cortana breathed his name, stepping forward suddenly. She raised a hand to his chest plate as though she could feel his heart beating through it. Her breath caught in a soft sob and then she sighed, closing her eyes, her hard-light hand making John's green suit turn turquoise with her proximity. "I've waited so long to do that," the AI admitted, staring sadly at the scrapes and dents across the Spartan's armor. She let her hand fall.

John looked down to the side, unwilling to stare her in the eye even through the protective shield of his visor. Perhaps especially through it.

"It was my job to take care of you." _To protect you_, John wanted to add. _To keep you safe. _

Cortana leaned forward, her voice adamant. "We were supposed to take care of each other." Her blue eyes were startlingly clear. John looked at her in surprise.

"And we did." Cortana's voice was cracking with emotion. She blinked rapidly.

"Cortana…" It wasn't just a name to him. _She_ wasn't just an AI. She was all he had – after years of war, of destruction, of death, Cortana kept him sane, kept him fighting. He believed in her, believed in their friendship. "Please…"

_Please what?_ John asked himself. He knew the answer, though. _Don't leave me. I don't want to be alone._

Loner by training, by choice… But John knew, with all his heart and mind, that there was a difference between being a loner and being alone. The one was tolerable – preferred, in fact, in the case of Spartans. The other… John looked back at the floor to Cortana's right.

_Why can't I even look at her?_

But she stepped back, her breath catching even as she stared intently at him, as though to commit every line of his armor to memory.

"Wait." _Come with me. _John reached out and then let his hand fall. _Take me with you_.

"Welcome home, John." Cortana's voice rang hollowly, as though she was fighting back tears of her own. She faded into the blue-purple walls, which quickly started to deteriorate.

John could only stare at where the AI had disappeared. They had been together for years. They had stopped the Flood together, battled through countless Covenant armies. She had kept him sane when news of another Spartan death, another planet lost, another billion humans vaporized, reached him. Her wit, her brilliance, her charming sarcasm… It was gone.

John heard a roaring in his ears. He wasn't sure where it was coming from. Unbidden, his arms floated away from his body, his head tilting back. He drifted, back in the 0 gee environment that told him he was in space. The soldier in his head told him to remain still and activated the suit's emergency beacon.

But the human in there was paralyzed. He felt like half of himself had gone missing. What was the Master Chief without Cortana? A fancy green suit full of muscle.

John couldn't hear the Pelican that approached him, but the searchlights penetrated his visor and he closed his eyes. He'd been found. He couldn't decide if he was glad.

_~~SPARTAN~~_

Earth rotated slowly. Really, it was the ship – but from an inertial reference frame, one felt immobile, so that all movement was relative.

John's mind kept running in that vein, examining the swirling white clouds over pristine blue ocean thousands of meters away. He couldn't bring himself to think beyond interpreting his surroundings.

A distant corner of his mind heard the soft footsteps of someone approaching but, as they were neither hurried nor sneaking, John dismissed them.

They came to a stop and it was a moment before a male voice asked, "Mind if I join you?"

John looked up and then turned, stiffening automatically into a pre-salute stance. "Of course not, Sir," he answered formally, letting absolutely no emotion through his voice.

"At ease, Chief." The commander approached – John knew his name, but his brain wasn't cooperating in finding it. He abandoned the search. "It feels kind of odd for you to call me 'Sir.'"

John turned back to the window. Blue oceans, white clouds.

"Beautiful, isn't she?" Earth was beautiful – they couldn't see the blazoned scar across the heart of Africa from the Flood invasion.

"I don't get to see her often enough." . John hadn't seen Earth before chasing the Flood to it, either, and he remembered the battle bitterly – but now, with longing. _She_ had been there. Watching his back.

"I grew up on New Harmony. Attended Corbulo Military Academy. Never saw Earth in person until I was an adult, but… I still think of her as home." There was a long pause.

_Home_. To a Spartan, home was a suit of armor, a cryo tube… A battle field.

"You don't talk much, do you?" There was sympathy behind the commander's voice.

John had never been a big talker. Not as quiet as Linda, but also not as vocal as Will. But Cortana had broken that between them. He would have talked to her constantly if it meant she was there to listen.

"Chief… I won't pretend to know how you feel."

John wasn't sure himself how he felt.

"I've lost people I care about, but… Never anything like you're going through."

What was he going through? What was Cortana to him? At first, she had been an AI – a useful tool, one he had had doubts about at first. But he'd come to rely on her, trust her intrinsically. With her rampancy, he'd wanted to save her – and he would have done anything to do it. She'd been his friend, his confidant, his guiding star – she gave a human aspect to his life as the Master Chief.

"Our duty, as soldiers, is to protect humanity. Whatever the cost."

That lesson had been drilled into him since day one of boot camp. If the cost was one AI – his soldier half reminded him that, for all her apparent humanity, Cortana _had _been only one AI, albeit a brilliant one – it was light. But it hadn't been just one AI. Would it cost his sanity, too?

John knew he needed to find help. Speaking to a psychiatrist would be a good start. If they'd let him. But he really wanted to speak to someone who understood, and the only one he felt would even have an inkling of the power of his relationship with Cortana… He didn't know how to find Dr. Halsey, or even if she was still alive.

The commander shifted. "You say that… like soldiers and humanity are two different things. Soldiers aren't machines." John glanced at the man, moving his helmet automatically. "We're just people." The Spartan looked back at the planet below them.

_People?_ he wondered to himself. _Cortana was more human than I… And she was not a person, but I am. _It seemed strikingly unfair – not that anything was fair, but in this, the Chief felt some sense of hatred towards circumstances. Why had Dr. Halsey thought it a good idea to match them up? Why couldn't Cortana have been dumb AI, or less… human?

Immediately, John regretted that line of thought and terminated it aggressively. He couldn't blame either woman for what had happened. He could only blame himself for becoming so attached, for letting down all those walls that years of training and war had built up.

"I'll let you have the deck to yourself." The commander walked away, his stride sure.

"She said that to me once. About being a machine," John told the window and the planet beyond it.

_But who is the machine?_


	5. Logistical Nightmare (K)

**Title:** Logistical Nightmare**  
Date:** 9/23/2013**  
Summary:** Spartans, logistically, are a nightmare. Ted Smith, UNSC-enlisted logistics personnel, has been assigned to the monumental task of transferring a five of them onto the ONI stealth vessel PRO-49776, for a top-secret mission.**  
Rating:** K**  
Genre:** General, Humor**  
Main Characters:** John-117, Samantha (OC), Teddy Smith (OC)

Ted Smith – or Teddy, as his friends called him – frowned at the paperwork. He had been given a list of names – _more like designations_, he thought to himself – and told to prepare the ship for immediate transfer of a Spartan fireteam. There were five Spartans listed, meaning that whatever mission the ONI prowler was about to go on, it was _very_ important.

_These Spartans will be the death of my supplies, _Teddy sighed to himself, taking another swig from the water-bottle at his hand.

He was truly grateful for all that the shadow-soldiers did for humanity. Not that many soldiers or civilians knew about the green-armored giants. ONI wasn't ready to admit their existence, troubled as it was. Lowly though he was, as logistics personnel, Teddy knew _something_ about the program wasn't totally kosher with moral fighting guidelines.

None of that was helping him figure out the nightmare of these logistics requests, though. First of all, the Spartans needed clothing larger than anything the UNSC routinely provided. He'd have to put in special orders for fatigues. Second, the Spartans traveled with a compliment of technicians, two to three each, and _they_ all needed quarters, clothing, food, hygienic gear, and rec-room time. Third, they required specialized equipment to get in and out of their armor, which took a long time anyway. And finally, he'd been warned to allocate _at least_ 3000 calories per day, resting rate, and 5000 when fighting. Who ate that much?

Teddy sighed and ran a hand over his stubbled jaw. A beeping from his desk alerted him to a visitor outside his door, and he buzzed them through in curiosity.

Two people entered – the first was a _very_ tall man, nearly seven feet if Teddy had to guess. He was undecorated and utterly plain, except for his height and massive build. He had light brown eyes and thick, springy brown hair cut in a perfect military style. His clothes were crisp, though form-fitting, and even without announcing himself with the Spartan eagle pinned to his chest, Teddy could recognize a Spartan from the descriptions.

The other was smaller, thin and wiry-framed, but strong-looking with no-nonsense grey eyes and short yellow-blonde hair tucked securely under a black head band. She wore round-rimmed glasses and carried a personal tablet under one arm, a stack of papers under the other. Real, 2d-printed papers.

"Welcome," Teddy said politely, offering his hand first to the woman. For all his strength, the Spartan was obviously not in charge here. The woman's handshake was firm, not like the limp octopi Teddy shook on occasion. "I'm Teddy."

"Samantha," the woman replied. "I'm head technician for Blue Team. This is Sierra-117; he leads the Spartan team you'll be transferring."

Teddy acknowledged the man with a polite nod, offering his hand. He shook it and Teddy could feel the constrained power in the larger person's admittedly gentle grip.

"I just got your files," Teddy said, waving for the pair to sit and taking a seat himself. He raised an eyebrow slightly when the Spartan, instead of sitting, stood silently behind the female technician. "I haven't been able to put everything together yet."

Samantha nodded. "I hadn't expected you to," she said soothingly, pushing across the pile of papers. "This should clear the way considerably. We carry pre-filled requests for clothing, augmented rations, and such requirements as the Spartans have with us between ships. It makes everything faster."

Teddy silently thanked all the gods listening as he shuffled through the papers. This would make his job a thousand times easier.

"There are also a few requests we don't put on paper, to preserve anonymity," Samantha continued, passing over her tablet this time. Teddy took it with a raised brow. "How well acquainted are you with the program?"

"Not well," Teddy muttered.

Samantha nodded in understanding. "It is important that the Spartans – and we technicians – have a garage repurposed for our use. We'll leave our equipment there, and everyone sleeps together, so you won't have to worry about finding bunks for everyone. We also provide our own cots, blankets, and hygienic products – and, of course, the MJOLNIR equipment."

Teddy injected gently, trying not to interrupt but confused. "I thought they – you," he corrected, glancing at the Spartan still lurking behind the technician, "traveled without equipment."

"For the purposes of public record, Spartans are considered military hardware, thus requiring no human necessities," the man replied quietly. His voice was a deep brass, gravelly and older than he seemed. "Food and water are all we require from the ship, occasional medical supplies – everything and everyone else travels with us."

"Like a circus," Teddy muttered, nodding in understanding. "I can appropriate the food. 3000 calories per day?"

"Closer to 6000, if we are fighting," the man corrected. Teddy nodded, scribbling a note in the margins of his personal notes. "If necessary, we have suggestions as to what kinds of food are cheapest and easiest to transport, if it strains your holds to carry that much. Any long Slipspace journey will see us in cryo."

Teddy shook his head. "Five Spartans, three meals a day?"

117 simply nodded. "We have staying power for the battlefield," he elaborated. "Supply dumps are not as necessary for us."

Teddy nodded. "Good, thank you. I don't know the nature of this mission…" He waited, suggestive, but both guests were silent. He shrugged. "But I'll put in requests for at least a week dirt-side, or whatever. If we need more, I can always send a request to another supplier."

117 nodded. "It should not take us that long," he said mysteriously.

Teddy simply nodded. "Do you have personal requests?" The Spartan tilted his head to the side, confused. "You know," Teddy explained, frowning slightly. "Types of food you prefer, music… I'm in charge of providing not only material comforts but keeping up morale on board, keeping tension to a minimum, that kind of thing. What do you do in your spare time?"

117 glanced at the technician as though Teddy were speaking another language. With a sympathetic smile at the tall man, Samantha answered Teddy. "They don't have morale issues, Teddy. We'll be fine. Restless Spartans take care of themselves, and we usually freeze them for long jumps anyway."

"What about your crew?" Teddy asked the woman, hiding his surprise at the casual dismissal of very human tendencies in the Spartans.

Samantha flapped a hand. "We're self-sustaining," she replied. "Thank you, though. You're the first logistics person we've dealt with who's asked."

Teddy nodded, still slightly puzzled.

"If that's all you need from us, we'll be getting out of your hair," Samantha said politely, standing. Teddy rose quickly and offered a hand. "Thank you for your time, Teddy. We'll see you aboard."

"If you need anything, my quarters are always open," he replied warmly. They pair left, the Spartan nodded a polite, if distant, farewell.

Teddy turned back to the physical paperwork and the tablet on top of his own personal notes on the Spartans. He'd been interested in the project ever since whispers of the super-soldiers started drifting down from command. And now he'd met one. He looked forward to meeting the rest.

With a lighter outlook, Teddy returned to his work, filing the paperwork appropriately.


	6. A Spartan's Best Friend (T)

Title: A Spartan's Best Friend**  
**Date: 9/23/2013**  
**Summary: Technicians always make their charges feel a little more human after a mission. Sometimes, after losing comrades, the Spartans need a little humanity forced into them, even if they don't like it.**  
**Rating: T**  
**Genre: General, Loss/Comfort**  
**Main Characters: John-117, Kelly-087, Fred-104, Dr. Catherine Halsey, Samantha (OC)

"Alright," Samantha chirped, looking at the line of three armored Spartans, where just hours ago five had stood. She didn't need the numbers, newly added with the publicity of the Spartan program increasing, to distinguish them. She knew them, after working with them for nearly two years years, almost as well as she did herself. "Let's get you out of that armor."

Her team of technicians moved forward. There were ten of them, more than the three Spartans required. Samantha, at the request of her superiors, publically referred to them by their number designations. Inside their garage sanctuary, however, she could – and did – call them by name.

"John, how was it out there?" she asked, stepped up onto a ladder to pull the tall man's helmet off. He had his arms out to his sides, his assigned technicians – George and Lucas – working with Arthur's former second technician, Jeremy, to unlatch the gloves and forearm armor.

"Bloody," he replied neutrally, shaking sweat and blood from his eyes once the helmet was off. He held still when she used a rag to wipe his face clean, almost like a mother to her child. "We secured Dr. Halsey but we lost Arthur and Solomon." There was sorrow behind his voice, though no one would have detected it without having known the Spartans for a long time.

Samantha nodded sadly. Upon hearing the report – it had come through before the Spartans had returned to their garage, likely delayed by debriefings – she had quickly acted to negotiate the complex duties of both senior technician and pseudo-caretaker to the emotionally-stunted soldiers. Two cots had been removed from the side of the room where the Spartans slept, Solomon and Arthurs' clothing already stripped of identifying marks and in the laundry to remove their personal scents. Samantha had scrambled her underlings as well, assigning the four extras to each of the remaining Spartans and leaving one to move between soldiers as necessary.

"I'm sorry to hear it," she said, patting the large man's shoulder. John simply nodded, his neutral face never betraying the very real guilt he was likely feeling. Samantha had rudimentary training in psychology, more of a hobby but one that her superiors had credited with her assignment to the Spartans.

The large man's armor was dented and scored with plasma. She _tsked_ softly to herself, knowing John could hear it, as she examined the damage.

"I told you to be gentle on the gear," she scolded gently.

John shrugged slightly, a delicate move in the armor. "Sorry, ma'am." Despite her request, he never called her by name. He never called anyone but a fellow Spartan or Dr. Halsey by name.

"Tell it to the Covenant," Kelly snarled from her position, trying to help her three technicians pry her like a lobster from a badly-dented chest plate. "I can't breathe." She did look a little pale.

Samantha hurried over and assessed the damage. Something – likely an Elite hoof – had crushed the side of the front panel into the woman's ribs, not breaking them but definitely putting pressure on her entire chest cavity.

"We'll need to trip the emergency release," Samantha decided. "Fred, brace Kelly, if you would."

Fred left his own station with a silent nod and grabbed Kelly's shoulders, leaning back. She braced herself against him and Samantha flipped the emergency switch. Miniature charges set within the chest plate blew, making Kelly huff with the stinging pain. It did the trick, though, and the piece fell to the ground with a solid _thunk_.

"How's that feel?" Samantha asked, running her hands over the woman's ribs for signs of damage. She felt several bloody patches leaking through the black bodysuit, but nothing was broken or even cracked, that she could tell.

"I can breathe," Kelly replied, nodded slightly. "Thanks."

Fred released her and went back to his station, where the three technicians assigned to his armor continued pulling it off piece-by-piece. Underneath, the black bodysuit covered him from toe to chin, as it did all the Spartans.

Finally, all three of her charges were rid of their armor, standing easily in the form-fitting bodysuits. Samantha waved them towards the showers – they complied with the unspoken order eagerly.

"We'll need to replace quite a bit of this," George sighed, looking at the report from John's chest plate. "We brought most of what we need, but it's going to take a while."

Samantha nodded, looking over his shoulder. "Let's put in some extra gel here," she suggested, tapping the sides of the chest plate. Kelly's predicament hadn't been the first such incident. "It might help with their tendency to use their armor as personal shields."

George nodded agreement, tacking a note to the appropriate diagrams. He lowered his voice considerably. They all knew how well the Spartans could hear. "What do you think we should do with them?" he asked quietly.

Samantha tapped her lip in thought. Super-soldiers though they were, the Spartans would still need time to mourn their lost brothers – and it wouldn't do any good to dump them in the freezer just yet. She also had a sneaking feeling that Dr. Halsey might drop by to check on them, and the technician knew the Spartans would prefer to see the doctor while awake. She did it every time they happened to be aboard the same ship, even if they had gone into cryo.

"_Go Fish_," she decided. "Maybe poker or Tichu if we feel up to it, then we'll talk to settle down for the night."

"And if they don't want to?"

"Bully them into it," she replied. "It's good for them." A simple, non-warlike game would be cathartic for the Spartans, Samantha knew. It was a tactic she used often, half-bullying the giant soldiers into playing children's games with her and the other technicians. They kept it lighthearted. It was an unspoken rule that, once game time was announced, nothing short of imminent threat would be allowed to interrupt.

The technicians carted away the near-scrap armor and returned with the playing cards. They also brought the poker chips.

Kelly spotted the cards first and groaned softly, nudging John. Samantha noticed the small frown form on the man's lips and spoke before he could try to wiggle out of the game. "We're playing _Go Fish_," she told him, half-sternly. "And you all are joining us."

John compressed his lips slightly but obediently stood and followed her, motioning for his teammates to comply. He was only wearing pants, leaving his upper torso – scarred and thick with muscle – free, still slightly damp from his shower. Kelly was dressed in running shorts and a sports bra, clearly having planned on a trip to the ship's gym, and Fred tugged on a shirt, tucking it into his pants.

Kelly huffed as she sat down in the circle. George and Yanny were to either side of her, and John sat next to Carroway and George, with Fred placed between Samantha and Yanny. Jeremy and Misha sat between Samantha and Carroway. Such integration spoke volumes for how comfortable the Spartans were with the technicians. The others had formed their own circle; more than nine participants in a game of _Go Fish_ disoriented the technicians, and gave a very clear advantage to the sharp-minded Spartans.

Samantha shuffled the deck and passed out the cards, three to each person. That left twenty-five in the ocean.

"Alright, Misha, you're first," Samantha said, frowning at her cards. Nothing matched.

Misha considered her cards for a second and then targeted John. Privately, the technicians had agreed that other Spartans, especially Kelly and Fred, took their cues from the Master Chief, and so focused intently on pulling him out of his shell first. "John, do you have any threes?"

The Spartan shook his head.

"Use your words," Samantha scolded the large man.

"Go fish," John said quietly, lips twitching. Misha huffed but pulled another card. Samantha saw the delight in her eyes as she paired the pulled card with another from her hand.

Carroway squinted across the circle at Fred. "Alright, Fred, got any kings?"

With a sigh, the large man flicked the card across the circle, landing it expertly in the technician's lap. Carroway grinned maniacally and made a show of tucking the card into his hand.

John was up next. He had set his cards down, his hands loosely piled in his lap. The Spartan had likely memorized what he had already. "Fred, hand over your four."

Fred frowned and flicked the requested card at his brother, aiming for the man's head. John deftly caught it and set it in his pile. "You always know," Fred grumbled, staring bleakly at his single remaining card.

John just shrugged and nodded for George to take his turn. "Alright, um, Kelly, do you have any queens?"

Kelly shook her head. "Go fish, George," she said quietly before Samantha could remind her to use her words.

George drew his card and sighed, placing it in his hand with a sloppiness that told Samantha it wasn't anything he had – which meant he likely held four different cards, a good choice to pick on when her round came up.

"Samantha, got any jacks?" Kelly asked politely.

Samantha peeked at her cards and then shook her head. "Go Fish, Kelly," she said, shoving the ocean of cards towards the other woman. Kelly looked at them carefully and then pulled one from the top, nodded in satisfaction at what she'd gotten.

Yanny fixed John with an almost challenging gaze. "John, do you have any fours?"

John acknowledged her with a bare tilt of his head, passing one of the four cards in his hand – he had to have at least two, but they played a slightly more difficult version of_ Go Fish_ that required only one card trade hands – around to the technician. He never threw the cards.

"Alriiight," Yanny murmured under her breath, nodding to Fred to take his turn.

"Carroway, please tell me you have an eight." Fred gazed in an exaggerated sad-dog look at the technician.

"Tch, fine, here," Carroway chuckled, throwing the card at the Spartan. It didn't make it half-way across the circle before it flipped and air resistance dropped it face-up into the ocean. Fred plucked it from the pile quickly, as though it would drown otherwise.

Samantha's turn, finally. She smiled winningly at George. "Queens, Georgy, hand 'em over."

Grumbling, George leaned over and tossed the card at her. It landed just short of her feet, and Samantha quickly picked it up.

It was Misha's turn again. She frowned in concentration.

They continued for a while and Samantha saw all three Spartans slowly loosen up, smiling more – though the movement was a bare twitch of their lips, more in their eyes than anything, she had long ago learned how to see it.

"Fred, give it," John growled at his brother, who held the last face-down card. John's hand, three matched cards that had to be sevens, beckoned to Fred's remaining card. All the rest were face-up in piles.

"I should at least win one pile," the male Spartan muttered as he tossed the card to the Chief.

"Alright, people, count your piles," Samantha ordered. She had clearly lost, as had Fred; they hadn't won any piles. Kelly and John had seemed to team up on the poor odd-Spartan-out, stealing all his cards ruthlessly as the game wore on.

Kelly had wound up tying George for second place, while John, predictably, took first. He was utterly ruthless in children's games, just as he was on the battlefield, and he hated to lose. He also had a lot of what his brothers and sisters called "Spartan luck" and it seemed to transfer over to card games.

Samantha stopped the trio of Spartans when they would have gotten up to leave with a soft command to sit back down. "We're going to play poker next," she told them.

"Samantha, no offense, but we're not really feeling up to it," Kelly said quietly, glancing at her brothers.

"I know you want to go run around the gym or lift weights and sulk," Samantha said with some sympathy, "but I'm not going to let you."

"It's not sulking to mourn your brothers," Kelly hissed, eyes narrowing slightly at the implied insult.

Samantha nodded. "But you're still feeling guilty, and until I feel reasonably sure you won't go off sulking and berating yourself, you're going to stay right here playing mindless games with us."

George shifted uncomfortably as John and Kelly, on either side of him, straightened slightly, almost threateningly. The technician suddenly looked – and likely felt – very small.

"You know you can't bully me into getting your way," she told them both sternly. Sometimes, Samantha wished she had been briefed on the Spartans' pasts. All she really knew about them was limited to her personal experience with them, learning how to handle the large men and women.

It was kind of like working with horses, in a way. Spartans could sense emotions around them almost uncannily, and responded accordingly. They had a herd mentality, but weren't averse to working alone – and John was definitely the top stallion in any group he commanded, though Fred was a close second. Spartans preferred action to talking, spending hours sparring or training in the ship's gym and only taking a break when they couldn't possibly lift anything, which took a long time, or she bullied them into it. They respected authority, but to get them to do something they didn't want to do took a lot of willpower.

She had to meet them on their ground. They sensed – and detested – being treated as machines or inhuman assets. So she treated them like sentient horses, asserting her dominance as herd mare. She might listen to John, but ultimately, the decision was hers – both as head technician of their tightly-knit group and as the closest thing the Spartans had to an on-call psychologist.

"Now, we're going to play poker," she told them, pitching her voice to a quiet but authoritative tone. "And when we're done with this game, I'd like to talk to each of you – individually."

John scowled – the expression was evident in the barest darkening of his eyes and furrowing of his brows. Kelly set her jaw and Fred's hands twitched. He was a fidgeter.

Ignoring the obvious distaste on the Spartans' faces, Samantha calmly dealt the necessary cards and handed out the poker chips. They never played with or for real money. Occasionally, there were lightly-hearted bets for tokens or favors, but seeing the suppressed anger in all three Spartans, Samantha doubted there would be any such joking around this time.

She was right. John and Fred trounced everyone solidly, apparently working off each other and trading wins. Once they pushed everyone out of the game – very quickly – they "battled" ruthlessly, betting high each time. They didn't quite push Samantha's buttons by being obvious about letting one or the other win, but it was clear to everyone that the three Spartans had a plan. The game was over in record time; John had lost to Fred with a reckless all-in bet on a pair of spades.

Samantha huffed as she gathered the cards and chips. The Spartans were already on their feet, headed back towards their cots. Samantha pursed her lips thoughtfully as she stared at their retreating backs. Usually, she took John first, alpha that he was. But this time, she sensed something darker boiling in Fred, and so called his name instead of John's.

"Come on, Fred," she ordered when the male Spartans both turned to look at her.

Fred growled something and John glanced at the other male before following Kelly to their side of the room. The division was more solid than usual, though nothing physical had changed; unlike most nights, none of the technicians approached their Spartan charge to ask if anything was pinching or tight.

She motioned him to a seat on the couch in the small room built onto the garage, usually a storage closet and repurposed for her office. She moved several piles of paperwork from her own chair and sat. Fred carefully lowered his frame onto the couch, sitting rim-rod straight.

"So, Fred, would you like to tell me about the mission?" she asked, ignoring the impulse to lean back in her chair. The Spartans didn't respond favorably to indirect questions, often feigning confusion – or maybe not faking it – and disliked informality.

Fred didn't bother reminding her it was a classified mission. She had good security clearance, and he knew she was authorized to hear anything from any Spartan under her charge who was having difficulties. He merely folded his hands in his lap.

"It was a quick mission, ma'am." She frowned lightly when he didn't call her by name, a clear indication that he was drawing a line between the informality of the card games and these sessions. "We took Booster Frames to infiltrate the fleet and attempt to rescue Dr. Catherine Halsey. Our mission was a success, though we ran into difficulties with decoys and Antimatter Charge." Fred's eyes dimmed slightly. "Solomon was on board the Covenant cruiser when it detonated."

Samantha murmured condolences, knowing better than to console Fred overtly.

"We located the flag ship and deduced that our target must be held within it. John led the charge; Kelly was pinged by a Seraph and Arthur dropped back to cover her, but was trapped between two cruisers and crashed. Kelly managed to jump onto my Booster Frame and we made it to the assault carrier. We moved through the hanger and hallways, and I remained behind to stall two Elites while Kelly and John continued. I managed to kill one, but the other ran away."

Samantha frowned slightly in confusion – that wasn't normal Elite behavior – and Fred caught the expression. He shrugged slightly. "He seemed to have something more important on his mind. I commandeered a Seraph and took out as many others as I could while waiting for Kelly and John to get out. Kelly was thrown into space when the ship separated, so I picked her up and she secured her own Seraph. John found the doctor and brought her out via an escape pod, and Kelly and I guarded it on the way back. That's basically it."

"Do you regret not being in charge?" Samantha asked. Fred usually led a team of his own; it was rare that he served under John, she knew.

Fred shook his head. "John was the better leader for this op," he said immediately, perfectly loyal to his brother. "Neither of us could have prevented Solomon or Arthur's deaths."

Samantha nodded encouragingly. "You know that intellectually. How about emotionally?"

Fred frowned slightly. "I'm still coming to terms with it," he admitted. "Losing two Spartans in one op is… unusual."

The technician nodded. They continued talking for a few minutes, Fred admitting that he really did just want to sulk, but together, they figured out a solution, just as they always had. The soldier was too emotionally stunted and in control of himself to cry, but there was a certain shadow in his eyes that spoke as loudly to Samantha as tears would have.

"I know you know how to handle it, even if it is a harder blow than usual. I'm always here if you need anything," she reminded him.

"I know," Fred said, smiling gratefully. "I'm sorry we were so… Uptight."

Samantha nodded in understanding. "I forgive you." It didn't need to be said, but she did it anyway. "Who do you think I should talk to next?"

Fred frowned, thinking. "Kelly," he finally decided. "She was guarding Solomon when he was on the cruiser, and it was her ship being hit that caused Arthur to drop back."

Samantha nodded. "Thank you, Fred."

The soldier stood and let himself out of the small room. Seconds later, Kelly – who likely knew it would be her turn next – knocked rapidly at the door. Samantha called for her to come in and she sat on the couch, stiff-backed in a defensive posture.

"I know you hate these sessions," Samantha told her, folding her hands on the table in front of her. "Fred's already given me the details about his part of the mission. Why don't you elaborate on the part after you were separated from him?"

Kelly huffed. "John and I fought through some uglies and then I pushed John through an airlock before it could close when the ship was coming apart."

The technician nodded. "Why John? Why not you?"

Kelly shrugged. "John's better at fighting hand-to-hand."

"Your speed would likely have been an asset." Spartans weren't exactly modest, especially not physically, and Kelly was rightfully proud of her speed.

"Only one of us was going to make it through."

"So, why John?"

Kelly frowned. That she was uncomfortable was obvious, though she didn't show it in so obvious a way as crossing her arms. "He's team leader."

"So? You know he would have pushed you through if you'd been the better choice – or given him a choice. Why did you push him through?"

"He had a better chance of retrieving the target." Kelly was sticking to her guns, then. Samantha had expected that.

"Do you feel guilty about not being able to stop Solomon from entering the Covenant ship and therefore being vaporized by the Antimatter Charge?"

Kelly blinked slowly, the only indication she had heard the technician. She muttered a reply; Samantha raised a brow, silently asking her to speak louder. "Yeah," the Spartan admitted. Now she did cross her arms.

"And that it was your ship that was hit so that Arthur dropped back to cover you?" Kelly nodded silently. "Do you think you could have prevented either or both deaths?" Kelly frowned and shrugged. "Kelly, use your words."

The Spartan woman growled softly but nodded jerkily. "If I'd been more insistent on waiting for John, Solomon wouldn't have gone inside and tripped the Charge. If I hadn't been hit, Arthur wouldn't have dropped back and gotten crushed."

"Do you blame yourself, then? Why not the Covenant?"

"I made mistakes. The Covenant didn't."

"Wouldn't you have done the same if it was one of your teammates who had been hit, or was inside an enemy ship?"

Kelly nodded. "Of course I would."

"Then isn't it rather selfish of you to assume Arthur and Solomon weren't good enough soldiers to know they were taking risks in protecting you, as you would have for them?"

"It's not that," Kelly objected, uncrossing her arms and leaning forward.

"Ah, it's the protection thing again, isn't it?" Samantha smiled knowingly when Kelly huffed in agreement. "Kelly, you may be a Spartan, and you're a damn fine soldier, but even hundreds of years of feminism and equality can't completely erase the protective instinct over females that all males have. Especially when those males are your pseudo-brothers."

"I don't need special protection," Kelly protested. "I'm just as good a solider as any other Spartan. Better than some."

Samantha nodded soothingly. "And intellectually, your brothers know that. But in flight-or-fight response, they're going to want to protect you – and not just because you're female. Think about the mission. Speed was essential. You're very fast, and you've proven you're good at infiltrating Covenant ships." Kelly nodded reluctantly, conceding the point. "It may not seem fair, Kelly, that you lost two brothers in the same operation, both while you were nearby. But you can't blame yourself. That would be tantamount to saying Solomon and Arthur didn't deserve to be out there, fighting beside you."

Kelly frowned slightly. She always crumpled to this argument; she saw the sense in it, but it didn't help the guilt and hurt she was feeling.

"I know you think better when you run," Samantha continued. "Go run a few clicks and get it out of your system. I think you can make the rest of the journey yourself."

Kelly nodded gratefully and stood. She paused, however, and said quietly, "Thank you, Samantha."

Samantha nodded. "Send John in next," she requested.

John entered after a polite knock and the invitation to enter, sitting down gently on the couch. He was always the toughest nut to crack, though he was also the most cooperative, and in this instance, Samantha was grateful that she had previous knowledge of the mission from his siblings.

"Well, John, I know about the mission up until Kelly pushed you through the airlock. Would you like to elaborate on what happened after that?"

John nodded in agreement, his brass voice pitched to a quiet rumble. "I found the containment cells and freed Dr. Halsey, who was still in her cryotube. We encountered an Elite on the way out, and he challenged me to a duel." There was some slight confusion in the man's tone, but Samantha was silent. She would ask her questions at the end. "However, before it could be concluded, the Elite was lifted out of the ship by a gravity lift. I secured the doctor and myself in an escape pod; we ejected from the ship just before it was destroyed. Kelly and Fred covered us in Seraphs and we rejoined the fleet before they liquefied the remaining Covenant ships."

"I see." Samantha tapped her lips thoughtfully. "How do you feel about the deaths of Solomon and Arthur?"

"Angry and hurt," John replied immediately. He knew better than to fight her – or try to lie. "Angry because I wish I could have prevented it. Hurt because they were my brothers and under my command, and they died under it."

"Do you blame them for their actions?"

"Solomon, a little bit," the man admitted, shamefully. "He shouldn't have tried to secure a whole cruiser by himself. The first scan was suspicious – the Covenant knows we have tracking devices in all UNSC personnel…" John shook his head. "Arthur, though, followed protocol. Kelly was hit, so he dropped back to cover her. I would have done the same if I hadn't been in the lead."

"Do you blame Kelly? She was present both times, and it was her ship damage that caused Arthur to drop back."

John shook his head emphatically. "She blames herself," he said knowingly. "But I don't blame her. Arthur was protecting her, like he should have done for any compromised teammate. "

"Do you blame yourself, then?"

John frowned slightly, the indication that Samantha had hit a sore spot. "You know I always do," he said softly. The technician nodded but indicated for him to continue. "I knew Solomon was eager to rip the Covenant a new one, after Sheila's death; he shouldn't have gone, but brass ordered a five-man team, and it would have delayed us to wait for someone else. He insisted on coming along after we found out it was Halsey who had been captured. I know I couldn't have done anything about Arthur's death, but I still wish I had thought of something."

"Let's go back to your report," Samantha suggested, seeing from the set of the Spartan's jaw that he was starting to resist the probing. Not wanting him to shut down on her, she changed the topic. "You said you dueled an Elite?"

John nodded, confusion evident in his eyes. "He challenged me to a formal duel. I was weaponless and he gave me an energy sword." Unspoken was the knowledge that, without the sword, John wouldn't have survived the battle without a weapon.

Samantha frowned slightly. "You're building quite the reputation among the Covenant," she said thoughtfully.

"All of us are. Covenant can't tell us apart. Not many can."

"Still. I think there's been a special hatred aimed at you, specifically, John, at least from the Elites." John tilted his head, curious. "I don't know much, it's all very hush-hush, just like you are. But our intel indicates that you've been identified in several battles, at least after we started putting numbers on your chests."

"I'm not special," John protested.

Samantha smiled slightly. "You're very special, John. All of you are. Getting back on track, though, this Elite may have tangled with your before and recognized you – or perhaps didn't differentiate between Spartans and just wanted someone's blood. You know how highly Elites value their honor. This sounds like he took a serious blow to his honor from one of you green demons and was trying to regain it by killing you."

"But why was he pulled away at the last second?"

Samantha shook her head. "I can't tell you, John. Halsey may have some idea – she was, after all, their prisoner, at least for a while."

John nodded. "Can I go?" he asked.

Samantha shook her head slightly. "Not yet, John." The Spartan huffed quietly. "There's still something bothering you."

John frowned, his fingers twitching slightly. The Spartan wasn't usually fidgety, making Samantha wonder what was behind the movement. "Two things," he admitted. "One of them really isn't related to anything with the mission."

"If you would prefer to talk to Dr. Halsey, or another psychologist, I could certainly arrange it," Samantha offered.

The man considered it for a long moment before shaking his head. "You're probably the best one to talk to," he admitted. "I don't really want to go through explaining all the backstory to a regular psychologist and it's not something… I don't want to talk to Dr. Halsey about it."

Samantha nodded. "Then let's take it one step at a time," she suggested.

John nodded, clearly organizing his thoughts. "This mission… It didn't require a five-man team." He frowned slightly as he spoke. "The fleet was certainly large, but we drew more attention with more Spartans."

"Do you feel that Arthur and Solomon's deaths could have been prevented if your orders had been to take only Fred and Kelly?"

John nodded. "I would have brought a wing a Longswords out with us, had them clear the way, and ignored the first scan altogether. We know the Covenant know about our neural laces, and we could have figured they'd put Dr. Halsey on the assault carrier without scanning. Or we could have made the scan before directly engaging the target."

"So this is a case of bad orders?"

John nodded, eyes unfocusing slightly as he called up some memory and then released it. "Maybe I don't have all the intel, but we wouldn't have lost two Spartans if we'd been more careful."

"Ah." Samantha nodded, seeing the puzzle click into place in her mind's eyes. "You feel that your team's lives were spent wastefully."

John paused for a moment, then nodded carefully. "Inexperience, maybe. But you've heard the rumors, same as I have, about our being robots – 'military hardware' – and it could be that whoever gave the ultimate orders for our involvement figured unnecessary firepower would be a brave show of force."

"Even knowing the time constraints you worked under? And how important Dr. Halsey is – not only to you, but to the war effort?"

John tilted his head thoughtfully. "You could be right," he conceded. "But five Spartans… We haven't been deployed that strong in a long time. It would have been faster to put me, Kelly, and Fred on the first ship out, but we waited for Arthur and Solomon."

"Hmm. It is an interesting question. Perhaps the brass did want a show of force."

"Which then raises the question of how expendable we are." John's voice wasn't bitter, but Samantha frowned slightly anyway.

"Think of it intellectually," she instructed him. "The UNSC has invested millions of credits into every single one of you, from training to armor and upkeep. You know I make a comfortable sum, and there are ten technicians on board, each being paid. We're entirely dedicated to your team – we have _no_ secondary functions."

"Our babysitters," John said, smiling slightly.

Samantha grinned, nodding. "And your engineers, software technicians, and general confidants. We're multi-tasked, so we're earning our money, but also think of how much your armor costs. We have to repair and replace a lot of it when you come back from battle, and that's not cheap. Plus, there's the whole backside in research and development looking to keep improving and integrating Covenant tech into your armor."

John tilted his head. "Money is a foreign concept to me," he admitted.

"Well, it's a lot of money keeping your teammates fed and in the battlefield," Samantha assured him.

"Alright." John nodded, both to himself and to her. "I think I understand now."

"So, what about this other thing?"

John was immediately uncomfortable and Samantha leaned forward slightly, encouraging him to speak. He knew nothing would leave this office unless she had evidence that he was in danger, or knew of a threat. She had made a point of telling them that their first sessions, but she didn't need to now. They trusted her.

"I've been having…" He shook his head slightly, before continuing with determination. "Difficulty sleeping."

Samantha nodded. "How long?"

"A week," he admitted.

"You have had such problems in the past," she said softly, tapping the paperwork on her desk with one finger – one of which did include a full psych-workup on John, and on every Spartan she had worked with. "Is this worse or not as bad?"

"It's different. Actual hours spent sleeping are nearly the same, but I don't wake feeling rested – and I don't know why. Last time, it was nightmares, and I'd wake up covered in sweat and breathing hard." Samantha nodded. She had been warned, by both the Spartans and her predecessor in this role, not to approach a nightmare-bound Spartan. "One of your functions is to help all of us deal with those, when we can't ourselves." John never said anything trivial, so Samantha knew he was reiterating one of her functions either to buy time or to lay out his own thoughts clearly – she thought it was likely the second. "But the past week, I haven't been sleeping well, but I haven't been waking up in cold sweats and I don't have any memory of the flashbacks – or whatever is going on in my head while I sleep."

Samantha nodded. "Have your siblings noticed changes in your sleeping routine?"

John nodded slightly. "I'm quieter, Kelly says, and I don't wake up as readily. That's dangerous – if we get ambushed and I'm not completely awake…"

Samantha held up a hand, stopping the Spartan. "Let's worry about getting you _rested_ before we worry about working on getting up quickly. I have a feeling the one will solve the other." John nodded in agreement. "You don't sleep much anyway, and humans are designed to sleep a lot more than you do. You take short naps, I know, to mitigate the problems, but you may just be _tired_, John. You haven't had a real break since this war began –for all I know, since before it began."

John's face was carefully neutral. Whether or not he and his siblings had been active before the Covenant showed up was still a mystery to Samantha, but judging from their scarring and comfort in the battlefield, she guessed it was so – which begged the question how old they all were, and _when_ they had started.

"And I know that ordering you to take a long break would likely put you under even more stress."

"Spartans aren't designed to break," John said, voice blank.

"But humans bend and break under strain, and you've been under a lot of it." She held up a hand to forestall his argument. "I know you're a Spartan, John, but you're still human. We have a long Slipspace journey ahead of us. I would _like_ to keep you and your siblings out of the freezer for at least a few days. You can catch up on your sleep, spend a little time socializing – don't frown at me like that – and we'll see if your problem improves. If not, we'll look deeper, alright?"

John nodded stoically, rising. "Thank you for your time," he said politely.

"Any time, John, you know that." She tilted her head with a slight smile and the Spartan let himself out.

After making the appropriate notes in her files, Samantha turned her attention to the pile of requisitions her technicians had put in after their initial examination of the Spartans' armor. Several she passed through without comment, but others she flagged – either because they didn't have the part needed or, more commonly, there was a cheaper or more reliable way of fixing it.

This task consumed hours and so it was with a slight twinge in her neck that Samantha looked up when someone knocked at her door.

"Come in," she called, pushing her bangs from her face.

She was expecting one of the technicians, likely with a couple more stacks of paperwork, but the woman who entered was clearly not one of Samantha's young scientists. She had greying hair, kind but worn eyes, and was built on a willowy shape that bespoke a youthful beauty. Now, the woman looked majestic and wise, not wizened as many reports would have of her.

"Dr. Halsey." Samantha rose and offered her hand.

Dr. Halsey shook it gently, her grip feather-light but firm nonetheless, and took a seat without being asked. Samantha also seated herself. "I'm sorry for the mess, doctor. If I'd known you were coming, we would've cleaned up a little…"

The doctor shook her head. "No need, Samantha. I've already checked on my Spartans and thought to talk to you."

"They're awake?" Samantha asked curiously. She'd thought they'd be asleep by now.

The woman smiled slightly and shook her head. "I did not want to wake them yet. They look tired."

Samantha's eyebrow rose a notch. Despite the trust the super-soldiers put in her and the other technicians, there was no way any of them could have walked into their space without waking at least one, usually all three. It bespoke a much deeper trust that flowed between the doctor and the Spartans.

Samantha regarded the woman more carefully with this new intelligence. Rumor said she was a mother figure to the Spartans, both their commanding officer and a warm presence in their life – and that she had taken them as kids, not adults. The Spartans themselves did not often speak of her, but then, Samantha knew them well enough to know how highly they valued the doctor. The Spartan II program was supposed to be her brain-child.

"How are you enjoying your job?" The doctor leaned back on the couch stuffed into the office, crossing her legs at the ankle and folding her hands over her knees. Despite the apparent relaxation in the position, Samantha didn't feel as though this was a friendly chat.

"I like it," she answered truthfully. "Working with the MJOLNIR armor is amazing. Even if the paperwork is top-secret." She smiled slightly and Dr. Halsey tilted her head in acknowledgement.

"And working with my Spartans?"

The first time Dr. Halsey had claimed the soldiers to be hers, Samantha hadn't really noticed. Now, however, she read Dr. Halsey's obvious intention. They were her soldiers, and she was clearly making sure they were getting the best of care. Keeping this in mind, the technician answered carefully.

"It took getting used to, but we understand each other now. I have some background in psychology-"

"Yes, I know. It's why brass wanted you working with them." There was something under Dr. Halsey's voice that Samantha couldn't quite identify. It was almost pain, but there was pride, and worry, there as well. The older woman fixed her with a stare as though she could see into her very soul. "So that you could identify any cracks in their armor, physical and mental."

"And emotional," Samantha agreed.

Dr. Halsey lifted a brow elegantly. "And emotional," she murmured, a slight frown crossing her face. She shook her head slightly, as though scattering troubling thoughts. "And what is your assessment thus far? You've had a full year to work with them – some of them, at least."

"If John, Kelly, and Fred – and Arthur and Solomon until recently-" there was a real flash of pain across the older woman's features, which Samantha noted in surprise – "are good averages of the Spartan program, then I think they are truly remarkable soldiers. While I can't imagine what kind of training and conditioning they went through to get to this point, and frankly I don't really want to know about it, I can appreciate the enormous sacrifices they made and continue to make in the war."

"Yet you disapprove at the same time." Dr. Halsey's eyes glinted knowingly.

Samantha paused for a moment, thinking her response through. The woman in front of her, so rumors claimed, had captured _children_ to train into super-soldiers. She could be completely ruthless, and her motherly side a fiction of the Spartans' minds.

"I do," she answered carefully, "in the strictest sense. There is no war without sacrifice, I know, but even with that… We have morals, laws, for a reason."

"And I trust you have heard all the rumors." There was no question in the doctor's voice, but Samantha chose to interpret it that way. She nodded.

"There's no good way to explain it, doctor," she elaborated. "I worked with horses before I joined the UNSC after college, and working with the Spartans is a lot like that." Dr. Halsey nodded slightly at the comparison, as though against her own experience. "I had to assert my authority over them not only as a technician – though they have never been dangerous, or less than perfectly proper – but as a psychologist. They react in ways that I would chalk up to PTSD – if they weren't so obviously also suffering from some sort of Stockholm syndrome."

There was slight warning in the doctor's gaze, so Samantha closed her teeth over her next point – that it was obvious _something_ had changed the Spartans' basic nature to mold them into a better soldier.

"Unfortunately," the doctor said after a long moment of quiet, "I cannot relieve you of your position." Samantha frowned, opening her mouth to object, but the older woman motioned for silence. "Let me speak. My Spartans require very little in the way of human needs. Physical contact, emotional support, "down time" – those needs were, to the best of our ability, trained out of them. They are the ultimate soldier and, I honestly believe, humanity's next step, in an evolutionary sense." Samantha shuddered slightly to think of an entire race of ice-cold, stone-hard Spartans. "They are necessary to our very survival in this war. Your expertise in both psychology and advanced MJOLNIR systems recommends you very highly for this position, and I cannot override those who put you in it. But," the doctor leaned forward, eyes angry, "you are compromising _years_ of training and education in your treatment of the Spartans."

"They're not machines," Samantha protested, unable to quiet herself.

"Of course not," Dr. Halsey said, waving the idea away as though ridiculous. "I know many believe they are robots, but they aren't. They are still human, at least in a physical sense, but trust me when I say how very _different _they are from when I saw them even last year. It is not a change that will keep them alive on the battlefield, and that is of the utmost importance. Whatever else they are, my Spartans are soldiers first."

"You can't just sacrifice them like chickens," the younger woman argued, surprising herself – and obviously the doctor – with her vehemence.

"Perhaps you have been compromised yourself," the doctor said quietly, studying Samantha with a new intensity. "My Spartans are not children to be coddled. Tell yourself honestly: Would John, or Kelly, or Fred, be happy in the civilian population?"

_Not as you made them_, Samantha thought to herself, silently fuming.

"As for your conduct, you will be receiving some suggestions from your predecessors, myself included, on ways to interact with my Spartans without compromising their training or abilities. I suggest you study them intently. If you continue to jeopardize them, I will put in a formal request for your transfer."

Unspoken was the promise that such a transfer would likely make it straight to the desk of one of Dr. Halsey's numerous supporters and approved without so much as a glance. Samantha liked her job – she liked working with the MJOLNIR armor, and the Spartans themselves – and didn't want to be forced to find another one.

"I understand," she said stiffly.

Dr. Halsey nodded, apparently satisfied, and rose, letting herself out without noticing the insult in Samantha's refusal of a parting comment to smooth things over. Samantha could hear her moving through the garage, her heels clicking sharply on the floor, and figured she was going to talk to the Spartans.

Samantha frowned, staring through the piles of paperwork still waiting for her approval and tapping her lip thoughtfully. Her first face-to-face meeting with the doctor painted a very different picture from the caring mother figure the Spartans saw her as. _Well, maybe not caring_, she amended herself, _but certainly a constant_.

Sighing quietly to herself, Samantha forced her brain to comprehend the top-most paper on her next pile of to-do. Still, somewhere deep and unfocused, Dr. Halsey's words murmured through her subconscious – _humanity's next step._


	7. Green Demon (T)

**Title:** Green Demon**  
****Date:** 9/25/2013**  
****Summary:** On board, a smart AI like Cortana has a _lot_ of free time, even when running the ship. With most of the crew frozen for the long journey, Cortana finds some time to peruse some – _ahem_ – borrowed Covenant intelligence. ONI won't mind.**  
****Rating:** T**  
****Genre:** General, Humor**  
****Main Characters:** John-117, Cortana

Cortana ran her digital probes through the data like a human would her fingers through a stack of crisp, new paperwork. A few files called to her, hinting at new knowledge. She held herself back for a brief moment, reveling in the treat before her. Covenant data, and she had all the time she needed to examine it minutely. For the moment, John didn't need her and the ship was running quietly, most of the crew – her Spartan included – in the deep freezers. That she wasn't supposed to be reading it was even better.

Cortana picked a file as randomly as possible from the wealth of data, which turned out to be a simple after-action report. It was written in the language of the Covenant, but her translation subroutines easily handled the task. She ignored the flowery "for the glory of the Prophets" phrases, eager to get to the meat, but slowed herself purposefully to lengthen the amount of time she could spend assimilating, storing, translating, and cross-referencing all the information she had, well, borrowed.

From the introduction, though, she did glean that this was an old report, one dating from the Battle of Chi Ceti in 2525. More interestingly, she detected a certain amount of disquiet in the tone, and seeing as it was written by an Elite, this further piqued her curiosity.

The meat of the report was more interesting, though, and she immediately began saving the translations in a document of her own, translating the overly-pompous Elite's words into the simpler jargon favored by soldiers. She intended to show it to John.

_Event Date: _[November 27th, 2525]

_Event Location: _[Chi Ceti IV]

_Report Date:_ [2526]

_Upon finding an insignificant human planet, Kig-Yar Shipmaster Din of the _Unrelenting_ proceeded to scan for holy artifacts as instructed by the glorious San 'Shyuum but suffered extensively from a lack of faith, as the wise _[High Prophet of Regret]_ noted after the incidents described in this report. _

_With all the avarice and crudity inherent in these lower species, Shipmaster Din ordered a tactical jump, bringing his ship within firing range of the human ship, later identified as the _Commonwealth, _a heavily-armored and armed vessel. Shipmaster Din fired upon the human ship and removed its communications dish, as evidenced by the lack of further radio communication from the ship. There are conflicting reports that the human digital intelligence entity, found on all ships worthy of their involvement, may have been damaged. Though the humans returned fire with nearly two hundred of their _[Archer Missiles]_, the _Unrelenting_ deflected or dodged all attempts to penetrate its shield and continued to bombard the apes with lasers. _

_However, Shipmaster Din did not know – as we, wiser that we are, do – that the largest of human ships possess a heavy gun, most commonly referred to as a _[MAC gun]_, capable of bruising even the most glorious of our ships. One round from this gun was sufficient to crumple the _Unrelenting's_ nose and start several internal fires. _

_It is these fires that must have confused and terrified the cowardly Kig-Yar crew, and such mistakes as were later made would not have been possible under the iron-hard grip of a proper Sangheili Shipmaster. Such assignments, however, are chosen by the wise San 'Shyuum, and it is not this believer's place to question them. _

_In retaliation, the Shipmaster fired a _[Plasma Torpedo]_ upon the human ship, destroying its MAC gun_, _but not before the human ship was able to further humiliate the Kig-Yar ship with another heavy bullet through the middle of the ship. _

_Perhaps to buy themselves time, cowardly and inept as they are, the humans launched a squadron of the ship-to-ship battle boats, known as _[Longswords]_, and instead of pursuing their main target, the Kig-Yar allowed themselves to be distracted from their glorious task of purging the universe of human filth. These smaller ships were also, as after-action reports indicate, a distraction, and allowed the _Commonwealth_ to deposit and then detonate a nuclear warhead, someone barbarically simple yet effective against the damaged _Unrelenting_. _

_It is important to note here that the _[Longsword]_ pilots did not, despite doubtlessly knowing the plan, remove themselves from the field of battle, giving their lives to ensure their victory. It is a dog's honor. _

_Instead of replying to this barely-permissible act of bravery on part of the humans with a show of the superiority of the Covenant and our holy task, however, the craven Kig-Yar Shipmaster ordered a retreat from the battle. Though he re-engaged the enemy, this is the second – arguably, the most important – mistake fueled by his cowardice that was addressed by the noble _[High Prophet of Regret]_. _

_Perhaps dazzled by the glory of accomplishing the gods' purpose, Shipmaster Din did not recognize the danger when the human ship fired upon the _Unrelenting_ again, instead of fleeing as the cowardly humans often do. It was this distraction that allowed the subjects of this report to board the _Unrelenting_ and, sustaining only 33% casualties, destroy the ship and its entire crew. _

_It is unknown what defect in the _Unrelenting's_ torn shields allowed these three humans to enter, if humans they were, but there are Huragok examining video feeds to find the explanations we seek. It is also unclear exactly what type of human was able to board the ship, as all three were identical to casual inspection and clearly at least partially reliant on full exosuits, colored in the green we have come to associate with human military members. _

_These three creatures – see attached images – were approximately _[2 meters] _tall when compared to the stunted Kig-Yar, much taller than the average human. Their exosuits were also fully encompassing and clearly armored. It is unclear if there were flesh-and-blood creatures underneath, and of what nature they might be. Conjecture leads us to believe, after continued reports of these green-armored soldiers, that they are indeed human, if of a race not yet encountered, and not a colony of hive-minded beasts like the Mgalekgolo or a fully-automated robot. _

_Despite the armor, however, the creatures were unable to withstand plasma fire from the Kig-Yar crew that attempted to repel their boarders and at least one was injured. The video feed from the ship – see attached – indicates that the one so injured could not leave the ship, which speaks to a flesh creature inside, unable to withstand the vacuum. _

_These green creatures fought in a manner one could, if it were not entirely insulting to both the glory of Sangheili and the honor of our warriors, compare to a [_Zealot-class Sangheili]_. They managed to penetrate the ship and left one of their number, the injured creature mentioned before, with several explosives. Once the other two were safely off the ship, it is assumed the last one detonated the charges, killing itself and all Kig-Yar crew, but since the video feed was not recovered after the separation of the three green soldiers, this is conjecture. _

_These new enemies bear close watching. There have been further reports of action by the same green creatures, though in numbers ranging from one to three. They are reported to be stronger, faster, and tougher than the average human soldier. There are even reports, likely widely inaccurate due to their source, of green soldiers killing mighty Mgalekgolo without sustaining fatal damage. _

_These creatures also fight longer and harder than any humans thus encountered, and some – or one, seen repeatedly – are reported with extraordinary powers, such as incredible speed, sniping ability, or hand-to-hand combat skills. They have been responsible for the deaths, collectively, of many Sangheili and Mgalekolo, plus innumerous Kig-Yar and Unggoy._

_With all the reports, however, there are certain constants. These creatures always wear thick, heavy green armor, bulkier than Sangheili armor and less revealing than Mgalekolo harnesses. With their appearance, more regularly-attired humans fight harder. There are no reports from intelligence-gathering operations, ordained by the wise San 'Shyuum, regarding these creatures' habits, origin, or even absolute numbers. Though the highest concentration recorded thus far numbered only three, but there is conjecture that many more exist, as these groups or individuals were seen too far apart for slower human ships to transport them between sightings within a given timeframe. _

_The name given to these green soldiers by the lowly Unggoy perhaps is the most fitting term for them yet. Those methane-suckers call them demons, for they haunt ship halls and planet-side battles with death as their calling card. _

_Though of course we will not fail as our hooves are set to the Path by the holy Forerunners themselves, these demons may just merit assassinations. I leave this decision, however, to wiser and holier heads than mine, and simply offer these facts to facilitate those decisions. _

Cortana finished her report on the Elite's report with a slightly amused chuckle. She wished she could wake John. Though he missed Sam, as all of the Spartans missed their dead siblings, he would likely want to see where his nickname "Demon" came from.

Filing the report with her version, Cortana moved on to the next tantalizing bit of data.


	8. Christmas for the Spartans

Title:Christmas for the Spartans**  
**Date:9/26/2013**  
**Summary: After destroying the Didact, John reunited with Kelly, Linda, and Fred, and found themselves given an indefinite leave of absence on a ship with a bunch of Marines who made it their mission to teach the Spartans how to enjoy the peace they had created. It all culminates in a Christmas party of epic proportions – and the presents are the pinnacle of the day. **  
**Rating: T for cussing**  
**Genre: Friendship, humor, something of a Crack!Fic**  
**Main Characters:John-117, Kelly-087, Fred-104, Linda-058, Cortana

"John."

"Mmmm?" John rolled over onto his stomach, fighting waking. Kelly had kept him up late last night. How she could sound so awake was beyond him.

"Wake up."

"Why?" It was a logical question, he thought. There was no urgency in his sister's voice, after all.

"Because I said so."

"You ain't leader." John buried his face back in his arms – he slept without a pillow, which was good news for Linda, who enjoyed having two in her bed – and tried to ignore the other Spartans' presence.

"How about 'cause I asked you nicely?"

_That_ made John frown. Kelly never asked anything nicely, unless she was talking to a superior. He might be her superior, but in this garage, until orders were given, they were simple siblings, partners.

"Or how about 'get your lazy ass out of bed before I chase you up and down the ship'? Would that be more like it?"

_There's the Kelly I know_, John thought to himself, cracking open one eye. "What do you want?" he asked, yawning. To his surprise, Kelly was dressed in her formal suit, and her short hair was held to her head with several small green and red clips.

"Do you have any idea what day it is?"

"Well, I went to sleep the morning of the 25th because _someone_ just _had_ to have a sparring partner, and I haven't slept more than three hours, so it's likely still the 25th."

"Smart ass. Fine, don't get presents."

"Wait, what?" John frowned in confusion, but Kelly was already gone, out of the four Spartans' bedroom and into the garage beyond it. Grumbling, John sat up and grabbed a pair of fatigues, slipping his dog tags over his head and pulling on a pair of pants. He thought about putting on a shirt but decided against it – it was pleasantly warm on the ship. Glancing at the other beds, the Chief noted that Fred and Linda were already gone.

He went out into the garage and paused, taking in the scene before him. How he'd managed to sleep through the set-up was beyond him. Maybe that had been Kelly's purpose in the sparring match…

The room was dominated by what _looked_ like a green tree, made from the four Spartans' MJOLNIR suits, bedecked with rifles, ammo boxes, grenades – painted, he noticed – and a variety of tools in a parody of a Christmas tree. Someone had even wired the penlights every scientist carried – and which were lost more frequently than any other item on board – into a chain of sparkling notes against the dark green armor.

There were four tables around the "tree" piled with food, drink, and brightly-colored presents. One of the tables was equipped with a holotank, on which the ship's AI stood. While she was her normal grey-green color, the AI was also sporting a bright red holographic Santa hat and unconnected pieces of red clothing trimmed with white that on a human would have been called revealing. Since her holographic form resembled a woman in her thirties, plump but not obese, the bits of clothing did a good approximation of being skimpy on her hard-light form as well.

There were about thirty people in the room. John saw his Spartan siblings towering over the crowd, and picked out a couple other faces in the chaos before he eyes were drawn back towards someone calling his name.

"Get a shirt on, you barbarian," Kelly laughed, extracting herself from a crowd of Marines and shooing the Chief back towards the bedroom. "Merry Christmas, John," she added, more quietly, smiling.

"What is this?" he asked, completely bewildered. They'd learned about religious traditions – and holidays with religious roots – from their AI teacher so many years ago, but they'd never really celebrated them. Soldiers worshipped good intel and celebrated victory.

"It's a Christmas celebration, stupid," Kelly replied. "Some of the crew decided we shouldn't be so exclusive anymore – after all, you _did_ manage to save humanity – again – and everyone's here to celebrate, so why the hell not?"

John simply frowned slightly. "And our armor?" he asked, pulling his pants off and finding his dress suit. It didn't bear the full chest of medals – he had to pin each one on if he needed to wear them all, because they stretched the fabric otherwise – but it was crisp and clean. He started dressing.

"If you look real close, you'll see it's all old stuff we've outgrown – or destroyed."

John merely hummed, pinning his Spartan eagle and rank tags to his chest.

"Come on, John, let's have some fun. And if I catch you moping again, I'll beat you up – guests or no." With that friendly threat, Kelly offered her arm.

"Aren't I supposed to offer you _my_ arm?" John asked her, nonetheless slipped his hand inside the crook of her elbow.

"We both know who wears the pants in this relationship," Kelly chuckled, sliding sideways slightly to fit both of them through the door. "I'll let you lead when we dance."

"Dance?" John muttered, starting to frown again.

"Yes, dance, and yes, you _will_ be dancing with at _least_ three people besides me and Linda, and if you don't wipe that frown off your face, I'll stick you _in_ our bright and shiny Christmas tree and pull all the pins on those grenades."

"I guess I should say I look forward to dancing, then," John murmured, grinning slightly.

"Damn straight." Kelly tugged him into a group of Marines who opened their circle in a welcoming gesture, grinning politely but also happily to see the two Spartans.

_Everything's changed so much_, John thought to himself as he greeted the Marines. He knew them all by name – and not just last, but first as well, and tried to remember to use it when talking informally. They were common poker players in the rec center, and usually managed to eat at least one meal with the four Spartans – the only ones alive, out of the original thirty.

_Don't go down that road,_ John thought to himself, listening to a funny story being related by Private Nick Amberton. _She wouldn't want you to._

It had been several months since Cortana had died, saving him from a nuclear blast – and thus ensuring humanity kept their hero. He still remembered her last words to him, every detail of her holographic form. They'd worked together for eight years, one year longer than smart AIs usually lived, though he had slept through four of them in the icy grip of cryosleep onboard the _Forward Unto Dawn_.

Though John had been very happy to see his three remaining siblings alive and relatively unharmed again, he still missed Cortana with a fierceness he had never felt before. He'd talked about it with several people, but the one person he truly wanted to talk to, Dr. Halsey, was out of reach. Rumor said she had survived the Shield World, but none of his siblings would – or could, perhaps – tell him where she was.

All four Spartans had endured lengthy award ceremonies. Kelly had been awarded several ribbons and medals, including – amusingly – POW, since Dr. Halsey _had_ technically kidnapped her in an act of treason. Fred's rank as Lieutenant had been confirmed and his armor now sported the appropriate rank. John, because of his acts against the Didact and on Reqieum, had been promoted as well, to Lieutenant Commander. Most people still called him the Master Chief, though. Kelly and Linda had also been promoted, to Chief Petty Officers, and Kelly constantly joked that now _she_ was the Chief.

After the award ceremonies, they attended memorials – for their dead, now that ONI was finally admitting Spartan deaths, and others'. John, at the invitation of the Arbiter, had even attended a few Sangheili services, though these were much less solemn and _much_ shorter than human funerals. The Sangheili spent up to fifteen minutes extolling the traits and feats of the dead Elite and then airlocked them near enough to a star that the body would be consumed by the heat.

Then all formalities had been dispensed with, and now the four Spartans were between missions. Brass was still scrambling to deal with the sudden end to overt hostilities. There were factions of all races out there, humans included, who wanted to continue fighting, for various reasons. The majority of the Elites, however, favored a Sangheili-human alliance, as did most of the upper echelon of the UEG, helped along by the simple fact that humanity couldn't afford more fighting.

So the Spartans, at the moment, were floating on a ship next to Jupiter, waiting for news of Jackal pirates, Covenant Storm rebels, human insurgents, or other warring parties to make themselves known. They were out here on a ship instead of on Earth, or even Mars, because no one wanted half the population trying to get into the base to see the famous super-soldiers themselves. After some not-too-bright Marine had decided to take bribes and let in small parties, brass had decided to move the siblings off-world – and hadn't told many people exactly _where_ their ship was.

Despite the availability of quarters, the Spartans had chosen to stick to what they knew, and so had commandeered one of the smaller garage bays to live and sleep in, their cots tucked into one of the storage rooms. Usually, the larger room had a few tables, for tinkering with their armor or reading – they used the ship gym for sparring – but was barren otherwise. Spartans were never precisely _bored_, and there was always cryo, but the four siblings were loathe to sleep through their reunion.

However, the Marines and crew had started making tentative expressions of friendship about a month ago, and now the Spartans were comfortable with the soldiers and crewmen. In return, those who chose to be around the large men and women knew that their apparent stoniness and silence was not intentional but a result of habit and training, and had done their best to introduce the four siblings to all of the usual Marine pastimes. Some of their efforts had met with brilliant success, such as poker – which John was no longer allowed to play for anything more important than duties – and others with disaster, such as trying to teach Spartans how to play Hide and Seek, and still others with humorous stories, like when Kelly and Linda had been "kidnapped" by the female Marines, and John and Fred by the men, and put into formal attire for a throwback "prom" from the 21st century. It had been the Spartans' first time dancing, and they had found they enjoyed it – even if Kelly tended to turn it into a test of strength and stamina.

Nick finished his tale and the round of hearty laughter brought John back to the present. He chuckled politely, though he hadn't heard the punch line, and another Marine began countering the tale with one of his own.

"There you are," Crewman Julie Anderson said, approaching. After a few close calls, everyone on board had learned not to try sneaking up on a Spartan – if they managed, they often found themselves across the room in quite a bit of pain.

Both Kelly and John turned, a synchronized movement the majority of Marines had gotten used to after the past month.

"John, I'd like your expertise on something," she said, glancing at Kelly. "We'd welcome yours, too, Kelly."

Kelly shook her head slightly, shoving John gently towards Julie. "Go on, John," she said encouragingly. "I can't always be here to hold your hand, you awkward butterfly."

John retorted with a friendly sneer and offered his arm to Julie. "Lead the way." Julie chuckled, reaching up to take the proffered arm, though their height difference made it slightly awkward. John wondered if all the women wore high heels specifically so they could dance with one of the Spartans – otherwise, it was close to impossible for anyone not considered tall, and embarrassing for the tall ones.

"How are you?" John asked as they made their way through the crowd. His bulk was good for clearing a path, and they moved quickly despite the crush.

"Good, good," Julie replied, grinning. "I finally figured out what was rattling in that damn Pelican."

"Oh, good." John remembered her talking about it, vaguely. "Nothing important, I hope?"

"Nope, not too bad. Imagine if your armor had stickers. It's kind of like it lost a sticker."

"Stickers can be important," John said, remembering the first trials on attaching permanent numbers to the suits of armor. Instead of going through a laborious process of stamping it into the hardened plates, the technicians at the time had decided to use stickers. They had been soaked through with blood within moments on the battlefield, and fell off quickly after that.

"Alright, well, it was a smiley face sticker."

John smiled slightly. Julie was one of the crewmen closest to the four Spartans, for her outgoing personality was just enough to bring them out of their shells without making them uncomfortable. She could always make them smile, and she shared stories and tips about living as real soldiers, not super-human Spartan myths.

"Alright, let's see here." There were four crewmen waiting, apparently discussing something in detail. Upon the pair's arrival, though, they welcomed Julie with grins and Johns with cries of "Merry Christmas!" It was a common well-wishing greeting during this time of year, in historical times.

"John, you know Randy and Kismit, and these two ruffians are Bric and Luke." John shook the two proffered hands, and received – and returned, gently – friendly claps on the shoulders with Randy and Kismit. Bric had greying brown hair, while Luke was similarly showing his age, though his hair was pepper-and-salt colored, his beard starting to turn as well. Both men had sharp gazes, intelligence – and a little awe – behind their matched brown eyes. They looked alike, too – John was willing to bet they were brothers.

Randy was in charge of John's MJOLNIR suit, and they had formed a close working relationship while upgrading the armor with Forerunner technology that had naturally evolved into a more personal association. The man was taller, around 6'4", with sandy-blonde hair and dark brown eyes. He was built sturdily, which made many who saw him think he lived on the Marine side of operations, but his true talent lay in reverse engineering Forerunner technology. He was brilliant, and John often found himself comparing the man against Dr. Halsey and Cortana – often in the man's favor because he was less worried about _if_ something would work than _how_ he could make it so.

Kismit, on the other hand, was one of the crewmen assigned to the ship's engines, and would be perfectly happy living in the engineering rooms if he didn't also share a fondness for debate and unfortunately off-key, _very_ loud singing as he wandered through the hallways between duties. He fit the typical pencil-neck geek archetype of a scientist though there was strength in his frame – he had to be strong to lift the heavier pieces of machinery required to do his job. His flaming hair and blue eyes were a rare combination nowadays, and he often joked about building himself a harem of women with whom he could pass on his genes.

Bric introduced himself as a visiting engineer, and introduced Luke as his brother and partner-in-crime. They worked for an independent weapons manufacturing firm, which John had heard of. Specifically, it was the one which Dr. Halsey had originally contracted with to build the prototype MJOLNIR armor, and later the full versions.

Bric had drawn up some possible plans for a suit of MJOLNIR-like armor that could be used by non-augmented humans. John found himself frowning slightly at the thought as the man explained his vision. The armor was special to Spartans – it required the super-dense bone and muscular structure they had all had grafted into their bodies so long ago. If everyone could wear one, would Spartans become obsolete?

"But we're having problems with the same thing that makes the Spartans so special," Bric said, pursing his lips.

"The armor is simply too expensive to produce in any quantity," Luke elaborated, shifting his stance slightly. "We've found a way to mitigate most of the necessary augmentations to use the suit. You need to be taller, stronger, and faster than the average human, but there are a _lot_ of Marines who fit that description. The only augmentations required would be a slight hardening of bone and we've been discussing…"

The conversation devolved into a biological discussion of exactly how much strain a human body – unaugmented and augmented to various degrees – could withstand. John offered his own experiences and ideas, recalling his first time trying on the armor and bruising his wrist while trying to salute.

"We aren't looking to replace any of you, Chief," Bric said after John brought up the point that Spartans were special – and sometimes replicating a program with less funding and lowered standards could be hazardous. One only had to look at the history of the Spartan IIIs to know that. He didn't discuss the IIIs, though – they _were_ still protected by ONI blackout laws, and so far as these engineers knew, Lucy, Tom, and their siblings and cousins didn't exist.

"It's just, well, you aren't going to be around forever." John nodded, though the engineer had made the comment delicately. Every Spartan knew their mortality was real, and most of them had met their deaths. It was a waiting game for the remaining four. "And the IVs are all well and good, but there just aren't enough of them. Dr. Halsey called you "humanity's next step," and I firmly believe that – that augmented soldiers and suits like the MJOLNIR Mark 8 are going to start making up a large portion – maybe not majority, at least yet – of the military, and quite possibly police and humanitarian forces. Imagine what scientists could discover if they could enter hostile environments with only a suit instead of a whole ship between them and their subject of study." John inclined his head slightly, indicating that he heard the argument – but didn't necessarily agree with it.

"She also admits she was wrong," John said quietly, thinking back to what Kelly had said their mother had told her about the doctor's mistakes.

Before Bric or Luke could come up with a counter-argument, Fred marched over, slinging an arm around John's shoulders and staggering the slightly taller man. "Hey, John," he said, grinning. "Luke, Bric, Randy, Julie, Kismit." He nodded to each of them. "Are you torturing my brother with your new suit proposals?" Fred glowered – unthreateningly – at the five. He was wearing his dress uniform just like everyone else, but he also had on a floppy red hat with white fur-like trim and a poofy ball at the end.

"I wouldn't call it torture," Bric protested.

"This is a party!" Fred shook his head in mock reprimand. "And we're about to start the games anyway. Put away your toys, let's go see who can hold the record for bobbing for apples."

"What's bobbing for apples about?" John muttered as he let his brother guide him towards the other end of the room. Most of the crowd was starting to orient themselves that way as well.

"Some sort of Christmas or Halloween or some celebratory tradition. It involves apples, water, and laughs – that's all I know. I had to carry the apples."

John noted that Kelly rolled her eyes as the two males found their sisters and gathered to sit together. Chairs had been arranged in three rows, arching around a sort of stage made from several of the stacking pallets.

Unsurprisingly, the figure standing on said stage, miming holding a microphone, was Kris, an older soldier who, through four different campaigns and the death of his entire family, nevertheless maintained a sense of humor and appreciation for life that none on the ship could rival.

"Yes, yes, let's be seated," he bellowed at the few stragglers. In his day, the man had been a drill sergeant, and he knew how to use his voice.

"We all know why we're here, it's Christmas, blah blah blah." A few in the audience chuckled or jeered good-naturedly. "But what we're _really_ here for is to thank our brave Spartans – and to show them how soldiers have a good time!" There were many hoots and cheers, and a few of the people closest to John and his siblings glanced at them, grinning mischievously. All four Spartans exchanged simultaneous glances – it was clear the entire ship had something planned, which they weren't ready for.

"Now, I'll need a volunteer." Corporal Lucky bravely nudged Kelly, who was sitting on his left.

"No way," Kelly hissed, growling slightly at the man.

"Kelly volunteers!" Lucky yelled, pointed to the woman. Kelly shook her head vehemently, but the rest of the crowd took up the call. John smirked – now he could get some payback.

"Go on, Chief Petty Officer," he said, grinning at her. While he would never abuse his rank against her wishes, but for this, John knew Kris had something special in mind for the Spartan. "I'll save your seat."

Kelly glared at him but stood, to an increase in cheers and whistles. Setting her face to a neutral expression – John could, of course, tell she was actually having fun – the tall woman stepped carefully onto the stage, checking her footing.

"It's okay, it won't break," Kris called to her, holding out a hand in a beckoning gesture. There were a few titters from the crowd. "We did design it with Spartans in mind."

Kelly stood quietly beside the man, waiting for whatever he was planning stoically. Kris waved to a pair of people on the opposite side of the room from where John sat, and they brought up a large tub that sloshed as though full of water. They set it down in front of Kelly.

"Now, I know we all have played at this game before," Kris told the crowd, "but our poor Spartan friends have never bobbed for apples." There was lots of amused laughter. With the end of the war, a lot of previously-classified information – such as the origin of the Spartan IIs – had been leaked, though ONI had clever backup files that "disproved" the rumors. No one paid attention to those, though.

"Who'd like to show us how it's done?" Kris picked out an enthusiastic volunteer, who dashed onto the stage and grinned at Kelly and then – alarmingly – dove head-first into the bucket. Kelly almost grabbed the man, uncertain whether this was part of the game, but when Kris just told her to "watch closely," she settled back to do just that.

The man fished around for a little while, getting thoroughly soaked – and covering the stage in quite a bit of water – before coming up, a gleaming red apple, not freeze-dried like so many other foods aboard the ship, held triumphantly in his teeth. He turned to the crowd, raising both fists in victory, and they responded _very_ enthusiastically.

He took a bite out of the fruit and shook himself off before descending from the stage again, accepting a towel from one of the two people who seemed to be in charge of running the background of the games. They stood guard over a variety of boxes and items, most of which John couldn't identify.

"Alright, Kelly, your turn!" Kris told the Spartan woman, grinning gleefully. Kelly eyed the large bucket of water, then shrugged and carefully knelt by its side. While the Marine had been small enough to swim in the bucket a little, she could easily bend over the lip in that position.

"Remember, no hands, no peeking!"

Kelly nodded and plunged head-first into the water, hands held lightly behind her back, to the obvious amusement of the crowd.

She came up three seconds later with an apple, held delicately between her teeth by the stem. There was a pause of astonished silence – John, Linda, and Fred, though, grinned – before the crowd screamed in laughter and congratulations.

"Well," Kris said after everyone had calmed down a little, "maybe next time we'll make you swim for 'em." He grinned at Kelly, who merely replied with a chuckle before dismounting the stage.

"Alright, you three, who's next?" she asked, taking a bite out of the apple and shaking the water out of her eyes. "I'm not the only one getting made a fool of today."

"I vote Fred," Linda said quietly, grinning at her brother.

Fred just chuckled good-naturedly and went up on the stage. Kris greeted him with a grin and a firm handshake. While the exchange took place, the two stage-hands moved the bobbing-for-apples contraption off the stage and onto a tarp. It was soon surrounded by a few Marines who wanted to try their luck rather than see what the next game would be.

"I need two more volunteers from our audience to play Twister with Fred," Kris called as the stagehands spread a mat with several hand-sized colored dots on the stage, four across and eight deep, the full mat measuring just over two meters wide and three meters tall. They twitched it straight and then nailed it down in several places while Kris picked his volunteers. Then one of the pair handed Kris a small board, which he took with a grin – and held to his chest when Fred tried to see what it was.

"Fred, George, Big Mack, line up on the mat – one on each side." Fred chose the side closest to the edge of the stage, his side to the crowd, while George stood opposite him and Big Mack faced the crowd.

"Now you just do what I tell you to do," Kris told Fred, grinning. "You'll understand this later, but here are the rules: socks only, no lifting your hands or feet, no repositioning, no tickling, no sharing dots, and no butts or knees or elbows on the ground! Got it?" All three participants nodded, though Fred looked slightly confused, and they took off their shoes.

"Alright, left foot to green," Kris called. After a pause to see what his neighbors would do, Fred put his foot firmly on a green dot, which meant he was very close to the audience. "Right hand, blue." All three bent over, Fred balancing easily on his left foot, and placed their right hand on blue. "Left foot, red." Obligingly, Fred moved his left foot over, and remembered not to raise his right hand from its blue dot. He was now hunkered down in one edge of the mat. "Left hand, green."

Fred frowned at the mat. It was just large enough that keeping his right hand on blue and his left foot on red made it difficult – not impossible, but difficult – to move to the assigned position. Nevertheless, with careful balance, he managed it, and was now in a slightly awkward position, facing the audience, who laughed as Big Mack made the reach and nearly fell, catching himself at the last moment.

"Right foot red!" Kris ordered. Fred set his foot down and was now in a sort of lunging position. "Right foot blue!" Fred moved his foot up a step.

"Come on, Kris, give 'em something interesting!" one of the Marines in the crowd yelled.

"Right foot yellow."

Fred stepped one line of dots further up, twisting slightly to keep his balance. He looked like a crab. Behind him, Big Mack swore softly to himself.

"Left hand blue." Fred frowned. His right hand was already on the closest blue dot, so he leaned carefully backward and placed his left hand on a blue dot, which happened to be right underneath George.

"Hey, Fred," George chuckled, similarly contorted himself.

"Left hand red."

Fred lifted his hand over one row to a red dot. He was supporting most of his weight on that arm now, and John knew he would need to reposition himself for a better distribution of weight if he wanted to stay in the game.

"Right hand to yellow." Fred took the opportunity to recenter his weight over his legs more, but since they were in front of his body, it wasn't working well. Big Mack, on the other hand, seemed downright comfortable.

"Left hand green." That gave Fred to opportunity to right himself as he reached his hand across the mat, once again balancing on his feet.

"Right foot yellow. No, wait, we had that. Um." Kris respun the board in his hand. "Left foot blue."

Fred growled softly, shifting his full weight to his right foot and hand, moving his left foot to a blue dot – and nearly stepped on George, who grinned in apology as Fred was forced to stretch his leg out past the man, underneath George's side, to find an unoccupied blue dot.

"Aaaand right foot blue!"

"We're going to have to share," Fred said, glancing up at Kris. "Or there aren't enough."

"Well, then, looks like you're sharing," Kris laughed.

Shrugging slightly, Fred moved his right foot over, nearly missing George's fingers. Now Fred was all tangled up, holding himself by sheer strength.

"Right hand red!"

Fred shifting, wobbling slightly as he was forced to move his stabilizing hand. George, who had been oriented away from the red, had a worse time, and nearly fell.

"Right hand green."

"Sadist," Big Mack laughed, moving his hand over. To do so, he twisted his body – never lifting his feet or left hand – and so his face was right next to Fred's knee, on top of George's thigh. Fred glanced down at the Marine as he completed his own shift.

"Left foot red."

Fred grunted, eyeing his situation. His left foot was actually under George, who was in a good position to make the switch but his arm prevented Fred from moving to the closest red dot. Instead, Fred carefully pulled his leg out from under the Marine and then was forced to slide it under the man's head. George rested his head on Fred's thigh.

"Aw, thanks, Fred," George laughed.

"Right foot green."

Fred moved his appropriate foot from blue to green and found himself stuck in a bridge position, facing the ceiling. George was still using his thigh as a pillow, and now Big Mack was climbing over him a little as well.

Kris continued calling left or right hand or foot and a color, and much laughter was had by all. Big Mack finally lost his balance and fell, nearly taking Fred – on whose elbow the Marine landed – with him. After extracting himself, it was down to Fred and George.

"Left foot green!"

John could tell this was going to be difficult. Fred had both feet on red, his right hand across the mat on yellow, his left hand sneaking under George to reach a nearby blue. To get his left foot all the way over to green, the big man would need to either pick up his right foot to move his left under it, or slide it somehow underneath George without letting his knee touch the ground, and that choice would leave him in the splits. George was in a better position, easily moving his foot to the required dot.

The crowd noted Fred's predicament and jeered, a few yelling helpful comments like "Don't fall!" or "over there!"

Fred, though, was not a Spartan for nothing. He carefully, without lifting his hands or right foot, nudged his knee straight and then balanced solely on his hands to make the shift. The room was tense as his left foot inched towards the green dot. George tried to help, lifting out of the way as much as possible, and Fred's toe slid over the green line to cheers.

"Damn that's one flexible man," one of the Marines, newly arrived on rotation, whistled. John merely grinned. Fred was great at hand-to-hand combat, and part of that required flexibility – but if you wanted _flexible_, you talked to Linda.

"Oh, Fred, you're going to hate this," Kris said with sympathy, eyeing the Spartan's contorted position. "Right foot green."

The entire crowd burst into spontaneous boos and cheers. George moved quickly, getting himself out of the way; Fred surveyed his situation and then nodded to himself. He had a plan.

John, despite himself, leaned forward in anticipation. Not only was Fred clever, but he liked to have fun – and the big man _looked_ like he had something in mind.

Instead of moving his foot over to the closest green dot, Fred arched his back and twisted, keeping his left foot and both hands on the mat but managing – with a dislocating _pop_ from both shoulders – to turn just enough that his right foot made it to a green dot without his ever falling down. As several soldiers cringed, Fred calmly rotated his hands – not lifting them from the mat but twisting the mat underneath, careful not to tear it – until his shoulders popped back in.

Kris looked slightly green as Fred settled his shoulders back in place with a shrug. The Spartan was now in a much better position, in a frozen crab-walk stance.

"I give up," George said, collapsing to the mat. "There's no way I can beat _that_."

Fred chuckled, standing up and offering the Marine a hand. "Good game," he said quietly, coming to sit next to John and putting his shoes back on. "We could have used it to teach flexibility."

"Or how to dislocate your shoulders," John agreed, grinning a bit. Fred flashed him some teeth – have agreeing smile, half baring them in pleasure – and turned his attention back to the stage. The stagehands had removed the mat and Kris was beckoning to Linda. Linda, true to her form of being more of a watcher than participant, was denying his invitation.

"Oh, come on, Linda," Kris cajoled, "I promise not to embarrass you." He had come off the stage and, apparently forewarned, the Marines were moving to the sides of the room. They cleared the chairs and invited the three Spartans _not_ being chosen to help with the game demonstration to join them along the wall.

Linda, abandoned in good humor, glared slightly at her siblings before turning to Kris. He was holding out a square piece of cloth.

"Blindfold yourself," he said, grinning. With a slight sigh, Linda did as told, tying the knot snugly against the back of her head.

There were several Marines moving the tables – and the large "tree" out of the way, and in its place, something was lowered from the ceiling. This garage had been used for small vehicle repairs, such as Warthogs, and it had a considerable pulley system rigged into the ceiling. Now, lowering from one of the pulleys, was a red ball, covered in cheerful bits of colored tissue paper.

"Now, Linda, we're going to be along the sides of the room, so don't go for us," Kris told the blindfolded Spartan, accepting a stick of wood from a stagehand. Fred and John both watched, confused, but Kelly apparently had some idea what was happening and grinned. "I'm going to disorient you – if I can – and then your target stands where the tree was. Use this," Kris put the bat in her hand, "to hit the target, as hard as you can."

John noted that there were several Marines standing near the pulley controls and guessed they would be moving said target.

"How big?" Linda asked.

"Oh, not too small. At least half a meter across. Ready?"

Linda nodded, swinging the bat by her side slightly. Kris beckoned to Kelly, apparently unwilling to try spinning the larger woman, and instructed her on how to spin Linda several times, moving her forward slightly, in an effort to disorient the Spartan.

Once Kelly was done, she muttered, "Good luck," and stepped back with Kris to their position along the wall. Linda stood still for a moment, likely waiting for someone to speak and give her an indication of where she was in relation to the walls of the room, at least.

John remained silent, though, knowing she knew where he was – and if he spoke, his sister would easily orient herself. He wanted to see what she would do.

When in doubt, a Spartan acts, so Linda acted. She stepped forward slowly, carefully, testing the ground beneath her feet as though she might stumble into a pit any moment. John knew she was feeling for the grooved lines that ran along the garage floor and knew – equally – that she was still several meters from the closest one.

Someone across the room murmured to his neighbor and Linda swung to face the person, tilting her head slightly to better catch the sound. John smirked; there was no doubt that Linda knew exactly where she was now.

Moving forward more purposefully, Linda halted just outside the ring where the tables would have stood and inched her way towards the large red ball carefully. She reached out with one hand and bumped into the thing suddenly.

Unwarned that the object moved, though, Linda swung the large stick of wood at her target, one-handed. The Marines standing by the pulley system jerked the controls, swinging the ball forward and smacking Linda in the chest with it. The entire room burst into laughter.

"Get it, Linda!" one Marine called encouragingly as Linda swatted the target away with one hand.

True to form, Linda found the target with her hand again before swinging. This time, though, she kept one hand in contact with it, and landed a solid hit. It was a one-handed swing, but the ball crumpled slightly on the side she had hit it.

"Damn," Kris muttered from where he stood watching next to the Spartans. "I thought we designed it better than that."

John merely shrugged slightly. Spartans were designed to destroy things – even in games.

"Good thing we have extras," Kris chuckled.

Linda had the target in her sights and, using one hand, had managed to beat in one side and was working quickly on the other. It jerked and bobbed, the Marines playing with the pulley controls, but Linda listened for the whine of the pulley motors and easily managed to avoid being hit again.

"She's almost through." Kris sounded excited; John glanced down in curiosity, hoping to read more from the man's body language, but then Linda broke through the ball's casing and his attention was riveted.

The ball spat forth fountains of confetti and glitter, absolutely drenching the Spartan in sparkles. Several Marines lost their fight to stay on their feet and sank to the ground or leaned on their neighbors, laughing so hard John hoped no one busted a rib. Linda, in a slight shock, stood still for a moment and then shook herself hard, dislodging the bandana.

"Yay, Linda!" Kris called through tears of mirth. "Queen of the Piñata!"

Linda just shook her head, trying to get the glitter out of her hair, but it was stuck fast – John suspected the pieces may have been coated in a sticky substance, judging by how _much_ stuck on her dress uniform. It would be hell on the janitorial squad to get it all out.

However, interestingly, John found himself not caring for a moment, grinning as Linda half-glared at Kris but broke into a smile nonetheless. His sister may be calm and collected, but recently, she had been more silent than usual, as had they all. Seeing her covered in glitter, chuckling quietly – the closest she ever came to a full laugh – made him happy.

Linda scooped up a handful of the glitter and dashed towards her siblings. Everyone in the vicinity scattered, including John, Fred, and Kelly. Linda ignored her sister; no one could catch Kelly if she didn't want them to. Instead, she chose a target from her brothers, and apparently decided John would look best in glitter.

Fred agreed and the pair worked seamlessly, driving John towards the pile of glitter in the center of the room. John eyed his brother, knowing Fred was helping Linda so that _he_ didn't get a dousing in glitter. In a moment of distraction – another Marine dashing away from Linda swung close – Linda launched herself at John, taking them both down into the pile of glitter. With a swift movement, John found himself being rolled in the stuff, Linda chuckling softly as she rolled them.

After a couple good rolls, she let him up, and John stood to find himself absolutely covered in the glittery sparkles. He tried wiping it off but merely wound up smearing it onto his hands. He frowned at Linda, but seeing as she was grinning at him, the frown melted into a smirk.

"I'm going to get you back for that," he told her, shaking glitter from his hair.

"Maybe," she agreed. "But for now, you're the glitter king."

"All hail the Queen and King of glitter!" Kris yelled, trying to get his breath back from laughing so hard.

"Hail! Hail!" the other Marines chanted, some affecting bows if they were still standing. John and Linda simultaneously rolled their eyes, but their grins didn't fade. John's cheeks were starting to ache from the movement.

"Alright, John, your turn," Kris said, stepping back up on the stage. "Come on, King of Glitter!"

This set off a fresh – if subdued due to exhaustion – round of laughter as John surrendered and mounted the stage, still dripping glitter as he walked. Kelly, Fred, and Linda sat down again as the chairs were brought back out.

The stage had been set up with a table covered in a pile of rubber bands, and a horizontal pole with three rolls of toilet paper was two meters away. The toilet paper rolls had been slightly unrolled and empty cans affixed to the hanging end to weight them down.

"I'll need another pair of volunteers," Kris called into the crowd. Several Marines excitedly yelled to be chosen, and eventually, Kris asked for Julie and Turtle to join him on the stage. They had clearly been briefed on the game as they stood at the table and pulled a portion of the pile of rubber bands to themselves.

"Alright, now this game is simple," Kris said, nodding to the table. "You get those rubber bands and you shoot them at the toilet paper. Your objective is to break the toilet paper and drop the can. Any questions?"

John shook his head, picking up a rubber band and rolling it in his fingers. He'd had to be careful with his strength, or he'd break the thin bands.

"Go!"

John watched each Marine shoot the rubber bands for a second, seeing their technique, and then made a fist, stuck his thumb up, looped the rubber band around it, pulled back, and let fly.

It swatted him in the back of the thumb, a slight sting that John frowned at. Several of the Marines laughed and yelled suggestions, and John realigned his thumb and rubber band. He didn't hit the toilet paper, but at least the rubber band didn't hit him.

After a few more shots, he figured out how to aim the projectiles. By this time, of course, his opponents had scored quite a few hits themselves, their toilet paper starting to tear.

John carefully lined up his "targeting reticule" with the paper and let fly, outpacing the Marines. While he generally didn't like the "spray and pray" mentality, here, he thought it was appropriate.

Turtle was the first to drop his can and cheered. John scored a hit on the can that dropped it right after that. Julie won third place after John turned his new-found skills to her target and helped her a little.

"Alright, Turtle!" Kris said, congratulating the Marine. He and Julie waved to the crowd and left the stage; when John went to follow, Kris stopped him quickly. "And, now, for the big event!"

An expectant hush fell over the crowd, and all four Spartans – apparently the only ones in the room without forewarning – shared glances.

"I'd like to ask Linda, Kelly, and Fred to join John on the stage. Bring the chairs," Kris told the three Spartans on the floor. They obeyed quickly, Kelly bringing John a chair as well. "Sit down and we'll blindfold you." Amused, the four large soldiers did as they were asked, closing their eyes; they were positioned so that they faced the wall, left sides to the crowd. The two stagehands quickly tied thick bananas over their faces.

The room was quiet, but there was a lot of muttering still as Marines talked quietly. John heard Kris shift slightly and thought he might be nodding to someone. The Spartans, not knowing what to expect, listened to their environment for cues.

The door on the far side of the garage opened and John heard several people smothering noises. Something must be approaching – the smothered noises moved forward towards the four Spartans on the stage.

As whatever it was approached, John could make out several sets of footsteps, three of them unsure and several others more confident. The group stepped up onto the stage.

"Now, in a moment," Kris said, his voice hushed with contained excitement, "we'll lift your bandanas simultaneously. Try not to hurt anyone."

John felt hands at the back of his head, holding the knot that held the bandana to his head. He listened carefully – Kris's comment about not hurting anyone made him wonder what kind of plan the Marines had come up with.

When the Marine behind him yanked off the bandana, John felt as though he might stop breathing. The three figures standing before him clearly felt the same, and he felt Kelly, next to him, stiffen even as they stood.

Like in a dream, before him, stood three of his Spartans – missing and now found.

"John!" Jerome said in surprise. Douglas and Alice, however, moved immediately into action.

"Kelly! Linda!" Alice stepped forward as the two other females did the same, grasping each other by the shoulder and grinning widely enough to split cheeks. They rested their foreheads together, closing their eyes and reveling in each other's presence.

"Fred!" Douglas roared in greeting, grabbing the slightly shorter Spartan and pulling him into a fierce hug.

John stood and crossed to Jerome, grinning. "Jerome," he said in greeting, offering his hand. He knew Jerome was less inclined to physical displays of affection.

"Oh, forget that," Jerome laughed, hugging his brother. "Gods, you're alive! And sparkling!"

John hugged Jerome forcefully, not answering. They were alive – siblings he'd never thought he'd see again. Jerome had been one of Red Team's leaders, specializing in sharpshooting. He – and Douglas and Alice – had been lost with the UNSC _Spirit of Fire_ and given up for dead.

Vaguely, John knew the Marines gathered in the room were cheering wildly, calling congratulations and well-wishes, as the four Spartans met their three lost siblings.

When Jerome released John with a slightly embarrassed clearing of his throat, Douglas grabbed the Chief and hugged him fiercely. John grinned again, squeezing the large Spartan back. Douglas specialized in heavy weaponry and fit the task well, standing two inches taller than John.

"I swear you grow every time we see you," he told Douglas. It was a running joke, and all the Spartans laughed in agreement.

"And you've been promoted," Douglas noted, grinning. "Still the Chief, though, right?"

"So they call me," John agreed. Douglas saluted playfully and turned to Kelly.

"Alice," John said, turning to his sister. She hugged him, untangling herself from the other two females. "It's good to see you again."

One of the shorter Spartans, Alice's head bumped John's nose as she buries her face in his neck. "They told us you were alive," she muttered. "But they wouldn't let us see you."

John smiled. "Best present ever," he chuckled.

The other Spartans agreed enthusiastically.

After trading hugs and assurances that they were really there, the Spartans remembered they had an audience. John turned to Kris, who was watching with a slightly tender smile on his face.

Before John could even try to express his gratitude for arranging the reunion, though, Kris merely waved the Spartan's words away. "I'm not one for speeches, John," Kris said, an outright lie, "but when we heard brass was holding your siblings and hadn't notified you, well, we decided that wasn't right. Went straight to the top and got Admiral Hood's permission to host this reunion party. We had to delay it a bit 'cause we needed a good reason that wouldn't make you suspicious…" He grinned and several Marines whistled comment. "But seriously, you all," Kris fixed each Spartan with his eyes for a moment, "saved our asses. And I think I speak for all of us when we say _'thank you'_ – and if there's anything you ever need, we'll always be there for you."

John smiled slightly. "Thank you," he said, addressing his words to Kris and the larger crowd simultaneously. "We've learned a lot from you all, and we're all very grateful for what you've taught and given us."

"Now, enough sap!" Kris yelled, beckoning to the stage hands. "It's game time! This is Christmas and I'll be damned if we don't celebrate it – and this reunion – with everything we have!"

"Hoorah!" the crowd thundered. The "tree" was retrieved and set in a corner, another piñata affixed to the pulley system, and several other activities and games – and food – set around the perimeter of the room. Music started booming from the speakers.

"I know you'll want to retreat and talk," Kris said quietly to John and the Spartans as the set-up was taking place. "But we'd really love to meet you three," he told Douglas, Jerome, and Alice, "and we _do_ want to celebrate this with you, if that's okay."

"Perfectly," John assured him. "Especially if you happen to have a few more surprise piñatas."

"That we do," Kris laughed. "Go on, have fun." He shooed them off the stage, which was quickly becoming a dance floor, and turned to his next task as host.

Douglas slung an arm over Kelly's and Fred's shoulders, while Linda leaned on Jerome and Alice stuck to John. "Where to first, Commander?" Douglas asked, grinning.

John smirked back. "Split up and recon," he ordered. He directed Alice towards the bobbing for apples station and introduced her to several Marines. She wasn't, he noted happily, as stiff as he'd feared, and figured she – and her team – had spent more time in contact with the Marines on the _Spirit of Fire_ than usual. She traded greetings, jokes, and quips easily, and even took a turn bobbing for apples.

John grinned, unsure how the day could get any better. He'd woken this morning with three siblings, and now that number had doubled. It was a good day.

_I wish you could see this_, he thought, directing his attention to Cortana for a moment. The pain he usually felt when thinking about her death wasn't as sharp as usual, buffered by the relief and happiness in having found more of his siblings.

He realized he finally had an answer for her, too.

_Neither of us are machines. _


End file.
